


Remarkable Things To Oysters

by FuzzyBlueOwl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 15 percent switching, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Begging, Behind the Scenes, Biting, Body Swap, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Emotional Slow Burn, Explicit Sexual Content, Food Kink, Food Porn, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Scene: Paris 1793 (Good Omens), Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Scene: Soho 1967 (Good Omens), Scene: The Wall Slam in Tadfield Manor (Good Omens), Seduction, Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Switching, Temptation, The Arrangement (Good Omens), The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, but it's 90k words and 6000 years, damn that's a lot of tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 91,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyBlueOwl/pseuds/FuzzyBlueOwl
Summary: The slow smirk that Crowley had given him in return was entirely too knowing and seemed to imply something that the angel didn't quite understand. The sight of that smirk made his stomach feel strange and fluttery.... It was the oysters. Definitely the oysters.(Or, 'A Chronological Record of Crowley and Aziraphale's Relationship Behind the Scenes, Including Lots of Angst but Mostly Smut')





	1. Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily influenced by the show but also is compatible with the book, an attempt to fill in some of the missing scenes. This is both my head canon and my excuse to write lots of smut.

41 A.D.

Rome

It all started in Rome. Aziraphale would always blame the Romans for his... er, indiscretion. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do," he was told. Blend in. Assimilate.

He also blames the oysters. Entirely.

" _You know, I've never had an oyster,_ " Crowley had said. " _Oh, well let me tempt you!_ " The words had spilled out of Aziraphale's mouth before he had really thought about them properly. That seemed to be the theme of tonight. He remembered " _still a demon, then?_ " and winced. " _Ah- that's your job, isn't it?_ " he added unhelpfully, feeling incredibly awkward and rather flustered.

The slow smirk that Crowley had given him in return was _entirely_ too knowing and seemed to imply something that the angel didn't quite understand. The sight of that smirk had made his stomach feel strange and fluttery. He had been feeling not entirely at home in his body recently, but if asked, he would have adamantly denied having any issues.

So, of course, they went for oysters.

Crowley didn't enjoy them as much as Aziraphale did, but he still managed to eat plenty. They both drank more heavily than they had intended, perhaps caught up in that little thrill of fraternizing with Thine Enemy over a meal, instead of just exchanging words at the sidelines.

"Well, that was simply l-lovely," Aziraphale slurred, as they finally left the restaurant, pushed out by increasingly sour glares from the annoyed owners who really, really wanted to be in bed by this hour.

They had never spent this much uninterrupted time in each other's company, and neither seemed to want to end it quite yet. They wandered aimlessly around the streets of the neighborhood together. "So… Craw-Crowley. Sorry. So! What… what do you think of oysters? Really?"

"Very nice! I still prefer fish, I think. Less wriggly."

"Fish! Yes, fish is wonderful. But something in these oysters makes my body feel just… lovely. Tingly, kind of. S'nice."

"Well, they're an aphrodisiac, you know?" Crowley replied absently before he stopped, mid stride, and his jaw fell open. "I thought- did you?!"

Aziraphale's face instantly flushed to red. "Of- of course not!"

"You're a terrible liar. You must've! Oh, you're a _naughty angel_ , aren't you, 'Ziraphale?" The demon's grin seemed to stretch farther than the width of his face, as it sometimes did when he was lecherously delighted.

"I- I didn't have a choice!" Aziraphale bleated, desperate to defend himself, "The baths! I couldn't show up to the baths while… smooth! These modern Romans make such a fuss about the social aspects of these silly public baths, what else was I supposed to do?!"

Crowley's grin kept growing. Making the angel flustered was ever so much fun. "Of course, angel. Blame it on the baths. Tell me, have you tested it out yet? You seem to have an affinity for _oysssters_ that implies-"

"Of course not! That would be inappropriate and- and- sinful!"

"Sssinful! Naahhh… That's jus' being human," Crowley laughed in delight. "Just never would have thought that _you_ … of all the angels, in a million years, would have made the Effort!"

"Hush! Don't say that so loud!" Aziraphale pleadingly turned to look at Crowley, ignoring the path in front of them. He tripped and stumbled rather hard. Crowley moved inhumanly fast to keep him from hitting the ground with his face, wrapping one arm around his stomach and pulling him upright. They swayed drunkenly, Aziraphale leaning back against him for a moment to regain balance.

"Watch your feet, angel. So you _really_ haven't tried it out? Gave it the ol' tessst run? Haven't quenched your _curiosssity?_ " Crowley let his hiss became more pronounced in mocking delight. He hadn't moved away, his arm casually linked around the angel, holding him upright, almost hissing into Aziraphale's ear, the breath tickling hairs on the back of his neck.

"Certainly not! It- I-"

"Why not then? It's yours. Nobody Upstairs is going to know." Crowley abruptly sounded less mocking.

"But I- it- _No!_ " Aziraphale burst out, trying to make it clear that the conversation was over, but also not, exactly, pulling away. Bursts of adrenaline seemed to follow Crowley's touch around his middle. He really should not have drank this much around a demon. He wondered if Crowley was Tempting him, though the demon had never seemed to be the sort that would have tried such a thing.

Crowley let Aziraphale go and stepped away, still smirking. He took the last swig of house brown out of the cup he had stolen from the bar and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Ahhh, don't get your toga in a twist, angel, I'm only teasing. Who's open tha'sss got more of this brown... sludge? I need more of this brown sludge."

"Nobody in this area is open, I'm afraid, it's very late." Aziraphale paused, a little awkwardly, hoping that this wasn't signaling the end of the night. None of their previous encounters had been quite this… _fun_. To be fair, none of those encounters had involved alcohol. Or oysters. It had been many centuries since they'd had a proper chat, just after the rainbow, watching the humans and their animals stumble out of the Ark. Their brief meeting at the foot of the Holy Cross was too sad and terrible to count. Aziraphale had rather missed the demon's company.

He hesitantly added, "There's wine at my place, if you like," trying to sound casual and polite.

"Wine! _Yesss._ Lead on, angel!"

Aziraphale definitely would like more wine himself. All of this talk about his body was making his stomach flutter quite uncomfortably, and perhaps it might soothe his nerves. He just needed to make _sure_ to change the subject.

~

It was a humble, single room home, containing a bed, a table and a stool. Crowley lounged on the angel's bed in a manner that implied it was his own, finishing his wine and helping himself to another cup. He sprawled out, limbs everywhere, drunkenly spilling drops of wine on the bedclothes.

Aziraphale perched a little awkwardly on his only stool next to the bed, keeping his eyes slightly averted but unable to keep himself from stealing glances. He often had wondered if Crowley forgot how human hips were supposed to work, and it was very distracting, especially tonight.

He had failed to change the subject.

"All I'm sssayin' is- it's _your_ body. They don't get it back until the end times, which could be, what, ten thousand, fifteen thousand years from now, for all we know. By then you can become sssmooth again and they'll never be the wiser. Why _wouldn't_ you?" Crowley absently took his glasses off and tossed them to the side, revealing his yellow slitted eyes.

Aziraphale flushed and unsteadily took a long sip, trying and failing to not stare. Those eyes had always drawn his attention, something about them was purely magnetic, and they had been blocked by those new darkened lenses the whole evening. He tore his eyes away again and took another sip. It was rude to stare, he reminded himself.

Aziraphale had never felt awkward about looking at Crowley's eyes before. There were strange things happening in his stomach tonight that he had not felt before either, and Crowley's insistence that they discuss his Effort, at length, was hardly helping. It had only been a few months since he came to Rome and he had gone through- er- changes. The embarrassment of the topic must be causing the weird fluttering sensation... And the oysters. Definitely the oysters. Perhaps they got into a batch that had gone off. Aziraphale brought his attention back to the conversation, trying to ignore the fluttering.

"Rubbish! Of course they would know if I _succumbed to Lust_."

" _Succumbed to_ \- No, thass' not how Lussst works! You think sex and Lust are the same? Even close? Have you even met Them?" Crowley's tone implied that he was explaining this to a child, and Aziraphale scoffed in response.

"Crowley, this is a _highly_ inappropriate conversation to be having- I- well-" Aziraphale started, "I don't think-"

Crowley waved his protest away with another hiss of laughter. "All of our conversations are inappropriate just by default."

"Well-" Aziraphale paused. This was technically true. Nothing about their relationship was appropriate. He winced. _Relationship? No. Acquaintance-ship… proximity knowing-ship. Er._ He was already going to be in _so_ much trouble with Upstairs. Aziraphale _really_ shouldn't be fraternizing with a demon, but Crowley... Crowley was different, somehow.

"Do you even know _how_ to use it? Is that why you haven't tried?"

"I- er-" There was no way of answering that question that didn't get him in more trouble.

"You don't! Hah! Knew it."

"Well, I do know _some_ things, obviously I've been to the baths, you know, I've seen… some _things_."

"Even the things they do in the baths aren't Lust! Lust is on another level. Lussst comes hand in hand with Addiction, they've always been a _thing._ Have you met Them? Or you've at least seen Them together, right? Always holding hands. And! Do you really think you were allowed to _make_ the Effort but then Upstairs would be upset if you used it?" Crowley sat up a bit, his movements showing the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed. A different sort of smirk slowly grew on his face and Aziraphale felt frozen to his stool, the fluttering sensation suddenly quickening.

"I could show you, you know," Crowley murmured.

"Show me?! What are you implying- _Crowley!_ "

Crowley's fingertips had suddenly trailed up the inside of Aziraphale's thigh, causing an unexpected rush of pleasure to surge up his spine. Aziraphale nearly shrieked his name, instinctively slapping his hand away and pushing his knees together primly. His breathing was rather shallower than one might expect. Crowley did not seem perturbed, his hands moving to rest lightly on Aziraphale's knees. "You _did_ say to let you tempt me, earlier," Crowley smiled and his eyes glowed in the lamplight as he sat up, "temptation accomplished."

Aziraphale stuttered and felt his face flush heavily. "You know I meant- the oysters-" He squeaked as both of Crowley's hands slid slowly from his knees to his hips over the fabric of his toga. "Are you saying- who's exactly doing the tempting here?"

"That question impliesss that you are _being_ tempted, does it not?" The pressure of his hands increased, his fingertips gripping, and his eyes darkened to amber.

"Er- what? I- er-"

Aziraphale's hands didn't seem to want to do what they were supposed to (pushing the demon away or immediately smiting him) and instead decided to grip the edges of the stool rather hard. He felt his blood pumping in all sorts of ways that were entirely new to him and incredibly confusing. A rush of unexplained _need_ pulsed through his body, but he wasn't entirely sure what exactly what he needed. All that really seemed to matter at the moment was that Crowley's surprisingly warm hands felt very nice touching his legs like that, and it would be _very_ nice if they kept on. Aziraphale tried to form words of protest, but they just came out in more stutters, almost as if his throat itself knew he didn't _really_ want to protest.

The smirk grew on Crowley's face, his glowing eyes locked onto Aziraphale's expression. He slowly ran his hands up and down the tops of the angel's thighs, watching his reactions at these new sensations. A widening of blue eyes. A sharp inhale of breath. A twitch of tension in the muscles below his fingertips. Crowley very much enjoyed reactions. Good reactions, bad reactions, painful reactions, pleasant reactions... He collected reactions in his memory like the humans collected coins of gold. _These_ were reactions he had never seen before and he really, really wanted to see more of them, _all_ of them.

Aziraphale's face was red, his lips slightly parted, a look of shock mixed with arousal. He made some unseemly blithering noises as Crowley's thumbs pressed lightly into the creases between his thighs and his groin. Crowley sat up so that he was face to face with Aziraphale, staring into his blue eyes for a moment before leaning forward and pressing their lips softly together, gently pushing Aziraphale's legs apart to get closer.

The kiss was almost chaste, but it seemed to shock Aziraphale into speech. "Crowley, _whatever_ are you doing?! Why- _ohhh!_ " He gasped sharply as the demon's hand moved to rest on top of the hardness hiding under his toga. "This is- _oh!_ -not allowed! I'll- oh!"

Crowley's grin stretched out wider than his face again, absolutely thrilled that Aziraphale was hard for him, the knowledge of it sending heat to his core. "That's partly why it feelsss ssso good," he hissed, his other hand reaching up to thread his fingers through baby fine blond strands. Crowley pulled gently to expose the angel's neck, running his lips across soft skin, reveling in the surprised gasp. Crowley was already addicted to that gasp… on a level that he wouldn't be surprised if Addiction themself didn't tap him on the shoulder to shake his hand and give a grin of Their approval. He bit the pale skin of Aziraphale's throat, ever so gently, and ran his tongue over the bite, immediately being rewarded with another gasp. Crowley resisted the urge to clamp his teeth down hard, wanting more and more of the sweet taste of the angel's skin. It almost tasted like milk and honey, but somehow lighter, as if made of air. His other hand simply pressed into Aziraphale's lap with gentle pressure. Crowley remembered the rush of feeling these particular human sensations for the first time and was thrilled to be able to watch it happen to Aziraphale. He wanted to draw this out for hours, maybe days, if only the angel would let him.

If Crowley was honest with himself, he wasn't being sarcastic when he said _his_ temptation had been accomplished. Seducing an angel would be a lot of points for Downstairs, true. Seducing _this_ angel in particular was somehow entirely different. He wasn't being ordered to do so, for one. He definitely didn't want Downstairs to know about this, that he just really, really _wanted_ to. The more the idea took hold of him, the more he had been tempted to tempt, though he hadn't actually used any magic on Aziraphale to Tempt him. It wouldn't be sporting, he told himself, though the words _then it wouldn't mean anything_ danced through his brain and he quickly stifled the thought.

Crowley kept one hand in Aziraphale's hair, holding his head still as he kissed along the edge of his ear and moved slowly down to ravish his neck, being instantly rewarded with another puff of breath. His hands urged to pull on the fine strands sharply, the need almost overwhelming, but he kept his grip gentle out of pure force of will. Crowley's handful of previous encounters of this kind with humans hadn't ever felt like this. This was different, entirely more enthralling, and somehow it held a promise that it would be satisfying in the end. Crowley's other hand moved from resting over the toga to sliding underneath, lightly pressing his fingertips to the soft skin of Aziraphale's inner thigh, deliberately using the most delicate of touches. It was torture, this slowness, but somehow he knew it was the only way to keep Aziraphale from stopping him. At this point he would do _anything_ to keep Aziraphale from stopping him. He could have, easily, Aziraphale was stronger than Crowley, both in muscle and celestially. And the knowledge that he _hadn't_... they both knew what it meant.

At skin on skin contact, Aziraphale seemed to remember the powers of speech, but apparently he was still ignoring the powers of snapping his fingers to vanish himself to the other side of the city, moving away, hitting him, smiting him, or causing discorporation through summoned Holy Light. "This- this is a trick! Your demonic- wiles! I will not be- _oooh_ -"

Those warm fingertips stroked a sensitive spot while they were inching up to meet the warmth in his groin and Aziraphale obviously, visibly wanted nothing more than to know what it felt like when they reached their destination.

"Will not be what? Sorry, didn't catch tha'." Crowley's voice was low, gravely and almost amused.

"-Will _not_ be tempted!"

Crowley wasn't sure that any of his powers of temptation would even work on an angel, now that he thought about it.

"You're _obviousssly_ not being tempted, angel, _I'm_ the one being tempted, righ'? Haven't we established tha'?"

Somewhere in the haze of arousal, Aziraphale recognized the twisted logic and certain parts of his anatomy insisted that it was perfectly sound.

"You're misssing a pivotal part of human exsssperiences. You're just… doing research… to better asssimilate."

Suddenly Crowley's hand was _touching him_ , trailing fingertips along his length, causing sparks of pleasure that felt like shockwaves thundering through his body. Crowley rubbed the pad of his thumb over the leaking tip, spreading the wetness there, and Aziraphale's responding gasp was sharp and loud.

Crowley sensed his quickly peaking level of arousal and moved his hand away, not nearly ready for this to end. Aziraphale nearly squawked in protest, audibly caught himself, and instantly flushed to deep crimson, ashamed at how obvious it was that he desperately wanted Crowley to continue his ministrations. He was definitely _supposed_ to still be protesting. He bit his lip to keep himself from asking for more.

Crowley's smirk didn't waver as he pulled Aziraphale from the stool and onto the narrow bed. Aziraphale realized where he was headed mid-pull and almost took a spill to the floor in an unconvincing effort to halt it. Crowley caught him for the second time that night, pulling him up and pushing him flat on his back into his bed, the lithe legs straddling him and holding him still.

Aziraphale visibly swallowed.

Warm hands suddenly tugged Aziraphale's toga upwards and he gasped and instinctively pulled it down in an effort to cover himself, blushing furiously, put clean out of countenance. Crowley rolled his eyes and vanished the toga to the floor with a smile and a snap of his fingers. The resulting shrill squeak of embarrassment was _so_ fetching. Crowley's hands paused to rest gently over Aziraphale's wrists, not holding him down, simply a gesture that silently begged him to stay still, that begged him not to snap his toga right back onto his body.

Crowley leaned down and kissed a path from his jawline down his neck, watching the angel's chest heave as he tried to catch his breath, forgetting he didn't actually need to breathe. Crowley flicked the tip of his ever-so-slightly forked tongue onto a rapidly hardening nipple.

The noise that escaped Aziraphale's mouth could only be described as a moan, though he would have insistently denied it.

Crowley slowly kept moving down, pressing his lips to Aziraphale's chest, finding sensitive spots and exploiting them, always getting rewarded with another delicious gasp. One of his hands had found its way into the fluff of hair again, his fingertips tracing patterns along his scalp, and the other moved to fully encircle Aziraphale's length for the first time. The resulting noise was _definitely_ a moan, and any denials would have been easily laughed at. Crowley stroked slowly, watching the reactions on the Aziraphale's face, watching his fingertips grip and twist tightly into the bedclothes. He shifted his seat down Aziraphale's body, letting his mouth wander, and finally lifted his cock away from his stomach. Aziraphale's eyes stared at him, wide and unmoving, seeming to guess what he was about to do. Crowley noticed that all of the empty, dutiful protests had stopped, and he wasn't sure when exactly that had happened. Crowley made sure to maintain eye contact, grinning as he swiped his tongue around the head, watching Aziraphale's eyes clench shut and reopen, his pupils blown wide and his gaze becoming unfocused. He drew more of it into his mouth and lightly sucked. Aziraphale inhaled sharply, or rather _squeaked_ might be a more accurate word, and his hips jerked upward, seeking more of the wet suction. Crowley groaned around him, those _noises_ and movements sending heat straight to his cock.

Crowley's other hand released the blond strands, gently dragging his pointed fingernails down Aziraphale's chest. He had an urge to dig in with his nails, scratch, perhaps draw blood, get somehow _inside_ of that skin, but it was quickly controlled. He moved further down, getting to a better angle to more effectively use his mouth. He could feel Aziraphale's hips making small thrusts beneath him and he groaned again, the tension he felt becoming unbearable. He couldn't help but sneak a hand down to push on his own hardness, trying to ease the throbbing. Aziraphale stared at him with suddenly refocused blue eyes, watching him touch himself, his lips dropping open at the sight, and suddenly his hips were moving at double time. Crowley somehow managed to give the impression of a grin as he swallowed his cock to the root, working his tongue on the underside determinately, watching the angel watch him. Abruptly Aziraphale was coming, a noise bordering on a scream escaping from his throat. They were suddenly surrounded by white feathers as his wings burst from his back.

Crowley's eyes darkened to burnished orange and the color spread to cover the whites as Aziraphale lost control of his body. Crowley knew without a doubt that he had not meant to release his wings, and he felt lightning bolts of arousal at the knowledge that he could affect Aziraphale so deeply. He continued sucking, working him through the aftershocks, swallowing around him. Crowley could tell when Aziraphale became oversensitive and pulled away, breathing heavily himself, pulling at his own cock as he moved back up place openmouthed kisses on Aziraphale's neck, watching his heartbeat flutter in his throat, the beauty of it overwhelming.

"Oh _fuck!_ Touch me," Crowley whispered, finding Aziraphale's hand in the twisted bedclothes, tangling their fingers together. There was a pause. For a moment he feared the Aziraphale wouldn't, and Crowley could feel his stomach drop in distress. "Please, angel," he whispered brokenly into his ear, dropping all posturing and pretense, pulling Aziraphale's hand around his remaining clothes and towards his cock, momentarily not caring how embarrassing it was to beg like this, "please, 'Ziraphale, _please_ touch me," he almost sobbed in relief when Aziraphale wrapped his hand around him and tugged. It didn't matter that the touch was unpracticed or sloppy. Crowley hovered above Aziraphale on his knees, holding himself up unsteadily with one elbow, wrapping his other hand around himself, trapping his hand, increasing their pace. Their lips met again and Crowley kissed him feverishly, the heat of his body increasing rapidly, almost burning. He pulled away to breathe, also forgetting he didn't need to, resting his forehead against Aziraphale's own, needing to see his face. Aziraphale seemed stunned to stillness, letting the demon fuck his hand, the flush of sated pleasure all over his cheeks and chest, his eyes wide and his breath still heavy with arousal.

It was only minutes before Crowley gave in to orgasm. The tiniest thread of control left to him was spent to keep his wings tucked in where they belonged. There was no need to embarrass himself even further. His whole body tensed, every muscle screaming, as he spilled onto the angel's chest. His arm gave out and he collapsed onto Aziraphale, shifting a little to the side so he could bury his face in Aziraphale's neck. Crowley's skin was nearly on fire. He instinctively pressed his burning lips to the cool skin just under Aziraphale's jawline and saw a crimson mark when he pulled away. Something about seeing the mark of his lips against the pale skin put a hard knot of white hot pleasure in his belly.

Unexpectedly, the soft, cool white wings wrapped around him, quickly soothing away the feverish heat in his skin. Crowley breathed in the scent of Aziraphale as deeply as he could, his tongue dipping into the air to taste it. He felt totally comfortable in his skin for the first time he could remember, and not once had he felt this soft, caring intimacy with another being. Crowley would happily stay exactly here, feeling like this, for as long as he was allowed. The thought was terrifying. He trailed his fingertips softly against Aziraphale's clavicle, trying to burn the shape of it into memory, as his mind floated on cloud of bliss.

It was far too short lived, perhaps only a few minutes, before Aziraphale folded up his wings and they vanished from view. He let out a huffing noise and Crowley was startled to see that his eyes looked glassy, as if he was holding back tears. "Angel? Whatever is the matter?"

"I suppose you're happy, now," Aziraphale bit out, pulling away. "You can tell Them you were successful. I'll be in _so_ much trouble."

"What? No, _angel_ -"

"Just popped in for quick temptation? Ever so glad you could cross it off your list," he said, his voice shaking. He sat up and quickly turned away from Crowley, burying his face in his hands.

"'Ziraphale- _no_ , that's not what this is, of course I'm not-"

Aziraphale stood up suddenly, pulling clothes tightly around him, keeping his back turned. "I'm sure I'll see you around when they cast me out," he whispered, "I suppose you'll be going now."

Crowley couldn't believe he was being thrown out, and so politely, too.

" _Aziraphale_. That's not going to happen. This was _not_ a task. This was... well, er... not sure? Er, what this was. I- it's- it's absolutely _not that_. You have to believe me, angel!"

"Of course." Aziraphale said flatly, his voice cracking, still turned away. Crowley knew that there was literally nothing he could say or do that would make Aziraphale believe his truth.

"I need some fresh air. Please, don't... be here when I come back."

It was the most rude, abrupt thing Crowley had ever heard him say.

Aziraphale closed the door behind him without looking up from the ground, leaving Crowley sitting nearly naked on his bed, reeling from the sudden change in atmosphere. He tried to ignore the rush of disappointment and loneliness at seeing the door close between them. Where had he gone wrong? He was startled to feel a twinge behind his eyes. He pushed down sudden nausea and denied to himself that he could even _be_ hurt.

Crowley righted his clothes and waved away the mess they had made. He even blew away the spots of wine he had spilled on the bed earlier. After a pause he made the bed, too, and the room looked the same as when he had walked in. He glanced at the small table and a bowl of flowers appeared. He wasn't sure why. It just felt right. Not Good, he told himself, just right.

Crowley let himself out, pulling his robes tighter around him. The night had grown cold and it instantly sank deep into his blood. Regulating his body temperature had always been a problem. All of his warmth had been burned away and the gentle wind froze him down to his bones. He considered vanishing himself to somewhere warm, but couldn't muster the energy to try.

Perhaps, in a few days, he would find Aziraphale and he could get him to believe that his intentions were... ugh. _What, good? He'll likely believe that, right? From a demon. Right. The demon with good intentions._

He waited a full week before coming back, knocking on the door with three quick, quiet taps. It opened almost immediately to a small child who stared at him confusedly and called for his mum. He scowled at the woman. "Ah- did you just move in?" The women nodded.

Through the open door he saw the bowl of flowers, still on the table. An icy knife unexpectedly stabbed through his chest. He turned around silently to abruptly stalk away. He walked the streets of Rome through three days and nights, pretending he wasn't looking, ignoring the cruel heat of midday and the frozen wind of late night. He passed the time by knocking over food baskets and exploding refuse heaps from a block away and watching the locals react. Several lamps were knocked over and small fires were started. A few clothes lines snapped, raining clean clothing onto filthy streets. He told himself he was definitely, absolutely _not_ sulking. At one point on the second day, he thought he caught a whiff of the angel's scent but it was gone as quickly as he noticed it, and he could have easily been mistaken.

After three days, he stopped pretending not to look and stood in front a fountain in a large square. He reached out with his senses, trying to _feel_ for angelic presence instead. Hours turned into days of standing silently, waiting, hoping he would sense something, or that Aziraphale would perhaps feel his call and appear, but knowing that he was being avoided. It was hopeless to even try, really. Aziraphale could be standing a foot in front of Crowley and could hide his presence entirely, if he wanted. He clearly did not want to be found.

Crowley stared at the splashing water, trying to avoid thoughts, passing silently through Time, pushing down bitterness. His eyes pricked again and he couldn't understand why he was being so affected. He hadn't cried since he Fell, and this was nothing, right? Just a little fling, mistaken intentions, _whatever_. Of course his _feelings_ weren't hurt. He was a _demon_ , for fuck's sake. Right? He pushed down all of the warring emotions, as deep as they would go, and turned away from the fountain. He wasn't entirely sure how many days he had been standing there. Not that it really mattered.

He had the one temptation to finish, and then he was leaving Rome. Forever, if he could manage it.

As he turned away from the fountain, denying the feeling of hopeless loneliness, a single tear finally escaped from one of his golden eyes. His dark glasses hid his shame and he immediately whisked it away from existence before it could fall down his face.

For just a moment he thought he sensed the angel, just the barest tickle on the edge of his senses, but there was no other sign of him, no accompanying hint of his unique scent, and then the tickle was already gone. He probably had been imagining it. He dismissed it and strolled away purposefully, pulling his cloak around him like a shield.

He had work to do.

~

Far above the splashing fountain, from a narrow window in a tower built on holy ground, while watching the dark figure stalk away, an angel wept.


	2. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It went on for centuries. They regularly shared late night chats, comparing notes on their work, making plans when needed. They wouldn’t always be assigned to the same city, but when they were, it was much more fun. They met frequently for dinner and wine. 
> 
> Neither of them ever brought up Rome."

537 A.D.

Kingdom of Wessex

_"It's all right lads, I know 'im, he's all right."_

Aziraphale scowled as he stomped away from the "Black Knight." He should have known it was just the serpent behind a name like that.

All right, he couldn't _really_ have known, it had been nearly five hundred years since he had seen Crowley, and he hadn't been particularly on the lookout today.

The time apart had been stressful. The first year or so after their last… _meeting_ … he had been constantly gripped with fear that someone important, from either side, would pop up unexpectedly to have a chat about their… behavior. He lived in constant fear that he was going to Fall, or at least be punished. Fraternizing at all was frowned upon. He wasn't sure if there was a specific punishment for what they had done, but he knew that Upstairs would be furious and Downstairs would be elated.

After the first year, it became less of a day to day worry, and more of an underlying anxiety. Was the demon just biding his time? Would he wait ten years? A hundred? Perhaps the game was to wait until Aziraphale's guard was down before reporting his success to his superiors. But after several hundred years of waiting, and now seeing that Crowley was here, and active, it seemed conclusive that he couldn't have reported anything. If he had, someone Downstairs would have definitely bragged about it, purposely within earshot of someone Upstairs, and eventually they would have come after him. It just didn't seem possible that the demon wouldn't want to get his credit.

And now he wanted to work _together?_

He hadn't heard any rumors of demonic activity in Europe in a long time. Perhaps Crowley had been overseas all this time?

At this point it seemed undeniable that Crowley wasn't planning on telling anyone. Aziraphale wished he understood _why_. Surely it was an accomplishment worth noting, he thought bitterly. And if Crowley _hadn't_ been biding his time, waiting to strike, where exactly had he been all this time?

The foggy air clogged his nose and he coughed, somehow both cold and sweating in the suit of armor.

 _He's right, it's damp._ It hadn't been pleasant here. He sighed. It was his job, though, and he had to do it.

A month later they met after sundown, at the edge of a tiny town in the marsh. Neither had sent a message, but somehow they both knew the other would be there.

"I've been thinking," Aziraphale started as they leaned against a rough fence around a cattle enclosure.

Crowley wasn't sure what all this was about. He had also been thinking, but he doubted they had been thinking about the same things. For the past month, his mind had been filled with the memories from Rome that he had been mostly successfully suppressing for hundreds of years.

"You know, about what you said."

Now, being in such close proximity, the images of what they had done weren't just at the back of his mind, but constantly replaying, just behind his eyelids, and it took every scrap of control Crowley had to keep his face and voice blank and entirely uncaring. "Which bit?" He asked carefully.

"It _is_ rather damp."

Crowley broke into a cautious grin. " _Innit,_ though? I mean, why can't we be thwarting each other somewhere a bit more sunny?" Something about the way _"thwarting each other"_ came out in a tone that made him grit his teeth a bit, and he desperately hoped Aziraphale hadn't noticed.

"So, ah, where have you been? It's been… a while."

Crowley tensed. He doubted Aziraphale would bring up Rome unprompted, but every word they both said seemed to have a double meaning.

He kept his tone as casual as he could. "Across the western oceans, far south. There are these people in the jungles that I find fascinating. Way ahead of their time with astronomy and such. Been there for a bit, started some mischief between tribes. Helped another group build a massive city on the very top of a mountain, should be fun to watch people in the future to figure out how they did it. The heat there was good for me. Would've been allowed to stay there if _you_ and the Table Round hadn't been throwing peace and happiness all around, up here where it's all damp and cold."

"Really? I haven't been across the oceans yet. What's it like?"

"There's all sorts of people over there. Massive amounts of land. It's a totally different world. The food's not as good, but the weather is far better. And there's lots of burial rituals to give demonic influences to, you know? It was rather nice, easy work." Crowley sighed theatrically. "Gave it all up, for this damp."

The tension slowly faded as it became apparent that neither of them were keen to speak about Rome. They slid back into their _proximity knowing-ship_ rather easier than they both expected.

A few months passed by of almost nightly meetings, long walks under the moonlight and occasionally flagons of mead. Eventually Crowley convinced Aziraphale that they should start trading off responsibilities once in a while. Aziraphale reluctantly agreed, but only for mild tasks that didn't really require "true evil" as he called it. General mischief felt a little different.

Crowley started calling it "The Arrangement," mostly because every time he said it, it made the angel protest, bluster about and blush a little bit, which was hilarious, and he also secretly found it absolutely adorable.

Aziraphale preferred to call each time "doing a little favor," which somehow made it sound worse. He always made sure to speak in singulars instead of plurals.

It went on for centuries. They regularly shared late night chats, comparing notes on their work, making plans when needed. They wouldn't always be assigned to the same city, but when they were, it was much more fun. They met frequently for dinner and wine.

They eventually became quite comfortable with each other. Crowley also seemed to rather enjoy treating Aziraphale to small gifts; a box of chocolates here, bottles of wine, a tin of cocoa or coffee there, a rare book he had found during his travels. Crowley once had to go to Japan for a few weeks, and when he got back, there was a massive tray of all the angel's favorite kinds of sushi laid out on his table. Crowley adamantly denied knowing where any of the gifts were from, though with his accompanying self-satisfied grin, he wasn't fooling anyone.

In turn, Aziraphale let him pretend they weren't gifts, but often gave him secret, beaming smiles while he tasted his treats or read his new books, which made Crowley roll his eyes dramatically. Crowley refused to admit to anyone, especially himself, that those smiles made his heart ache.

Aziraphale reciprocated in his own ways. Once Crowley woke from a week-long sleep in Scandinavia to a multitude of hot water bottles tucked into his bed and the fireplace freshly roaring. He would find bottles of port stashed in his things and Aziraphale would claim to have no idea where they came from. Once, in Italy, Crowley came home to an exquisitely fancy black suit laid out for him, _perfectly_ tailored. He wasn't sure when _exactly_ Aziraphale had gotten his measurements. He wore it the next time he saw Aziraphale, and the delighted smile was just as lovely of a gift as the suit itself. He flushed a little as Aziraphale looked him up and down, wondering whether he was looking at the _suit_ or at _him._

They became rather fond of each other. Aziraphale would even suggest at his own fondness out loud. When he did so, Crowley would scowl and mutter to himself for a moment before stalking away, sometimes sulking about it for hours. Aziraphale would smile affectionately at his scowls, which made Crowley furious, which would make Aziraphale smile wider and look even more pleased with himself.

One of Aziraphale's favorite gifts was when Crowley agreed to miracle Hamlet into being a hit. His beaming face caught Crowley completely off guard. He sauntered away, hiding how much he was affected by that smile, scowling about it. Crowley was entirely glad he wasn't going to Scotland, the weather there was terrible. He was already cold just thinking about it. He hoped the time would go by quickly. London just wasn't the same when the angel was gone. He scowled deeper, hating how much he already missed Aziraphale.

Neither of them ever brought up Rome.

~

1793

Paris

Crowley frowned as he watched the Frenchman manhandle Aziraphale into a set of shackles. What was the silly angel doing in Paris right now? In _that_ outfit? Was he _mad?_ He followed them.

Aziraphale looked him up and down in the cell, taking in the demon's black outfit and curled hair and murmuring, "Good Lord." Crowley smirked at the reaction.

 _"You're lucky I was in the area,"_ he had said.

_"I suppose I am…"_

All for some nibbles. Utterly ridiculous.

_"I suppose I should say thank you. For the rescue."_

_"Don't say that."_

_"What if I buy you lunch? ...What would you say to some crepes?"_

They sat in a little cafe in a rather safer part of the city, drinking far too much wine and eating copious amounts of crêpes and brioche.

Aziraphale finally set down his fork and let out of a heavy sigh. "Simply lovely," he murmured.

Something about his tone of voice made Crowley shift in his seat and sit up a bit straighter. He was especially manic and rather hot today. Being in Paris during this Revolution had made him a bit jumpy and easily excited. There was so much _wickedness_ going on here, both on the sides of the aristocrats and the rebels. He found that he always seemed to be sweating a little bit. Most of the time it was exhilarating. Somehow, though, unlocking those manacles earlier had ramped up the intensity of the burning heat within him, and it was starting to be a bit uncomfortable.

"So, how's opening the book shop going?" He asked, knowing it would get Aziraphale talking. He took a slow deep breath, trying to release some of the static energy from his aura. His fingertips seemed to _really_ want to set something on fire. He sipped his water before picking his own fork back up and nibbling on a remaining piece of berry.

"People keep coming in, trying to buy the books," Aziraphale sighed. "It's becoming rather annoying."

Crowley gave a hiss of laughter. "Of course they are!"

"But really, I'm _not_ going to sell my first editions, I don't care how much they offer. They simply are not for sale. Perhaps I'll just start calling it a book museum. But with all the expenses to cover, I suppose I'll just have to start carrying extra copies for the people." Aziraphale sighed, as if this was bordering on unacceptable for him. "Are you quite all right, my dear fellow?"

Crowley put down his water. "Fine. Why?"

"I've never seen you drink water."

Crowley's mouth twisted a bit, not quite knowing how to respond. "I wasn't aware my beverage choices were monitored so strictly."

"I'm just surprised. Are you quite sure you're all right?" Aziraphale's voice was quiet and he reached over to touch his hand. "Your face is rather red."

Crowley wasn't fast enough to pull his hand away before the angel's skin brushed his. "I said, I'm fine." He took another deep breath, laying his hands in his lap.

"You're burning up! My dear, whatever is the matter?" Aziraphale gasped. "Do you think I could know you for this long, and not realize when something is wrong? You're drinking water and your skin is as hot as-" His words stopped abruptly.

"I'm fine," Crowley insisted quickly. "Just a bit worked up. I've been here a while and there's a lot of ley lines under the city that have been pulsing a lot. Gets me a bit, ah, overstimulated. Just need a breather. I'll be off."

Aziraphale stuttered, throwing some money on the table as he followed Crowley out of the restaurant into the street. "I owe it to you to keep an eye on you. You rescued- er, lent me assistance today."

"Angel, honestly-"

"No, Crowley, I insist. Where are you going?"

"Just need to get out of the city for a while. Need to calm down."

"I'll come with you."

"That's not necessary at all."

"I don't care. I'm not _asking_." Aziraphale caught hold of his sleeve. "If you think I can just leave you, after... no. Where are we going?"

"Angel, _honestly_."

Aziraphale refused to let go of his sleeve. Crowley scowled but couldn't bring himself to shake him off.

~

They walked steadily until reaching the outskirts of the city. Some of the heat seemed to have dissipated from the surface of his skin from the wind, but he could feel it still boiling deep within him. Crowley chose a manor home on the river, unlocking the door with a snap of his fingers. Aziraphale looked scandalized. "Relax, angel, they're on holiday. They won't even know we've been here."

He conjured a glass of icy water and lounged on a plush couch. Aziraphale took a seat in a fancy chair next to him, concern painting his features.

"Tell me what's happening to you," Aziraphale insisted.

"It's _really_ not that serious. I'm just having sort of a hot century, you know."

Aziraphale did not seem satisfied with this answer. Crowley sighed and continued.

"There's been a lot of different revolutions around Europe and I'm stuck in the center of the biggest. It's been building for a while. There's so much tension in the locals, and so much wickedness. It just… gets me all worked up. I'm assigned here for a while, so I can't leave to cool off. You've seen the cold centuries. It's the same, just the opposite problem. Probably comes from being naturally cold blooded. Regulation is difficult."

"Can't you pop up to London, just for a few nights? I'm sure it'll rain." The way the angel said it implied that it was absolutely going to downpour.

"Can't leave yet. Any week now, it's going to explode here and since I'm being given credit for this whole mess, I have to be here when it starts. And didn't you _just_ say earlier, you've been reprimanded for too many frivolous miracles?"

"Weather may not count. What _can_ I do for you, my dear fellow? Tell me how I can help! Look at you!" Aziraphale motioned to his hand.

Crowley looked at his hand on the sofa, lifting it and absentmindedly watched the smoking handprint left on the fabric. The heat seemed to radiating from his face and hands the most.

Aziraphale was becoming a bit frantic. Crowley tried to wave him away, but he moved his chair closer and tried to take Crowley's hand. "Don't." He growled out, pulling his hand away. "I will burn you."

There was a pause filled with tension as both of them pretended to not be remembering the last time Aziraphale had been burned by Crowley, by his lips on Aziraphale's neck, in the fiery heat of passion.

Crowley's face started smoking slightly. These thoughts were making everything far worse.

Aziraphale had never felt so helpless. "What can I do?" He whispered desperately.

"Just- Just stay here with me for a bit. If you must. I just need a mo' and I'll be fine."

Crowley _really_ did not want to explain the specifics of his situation. This century really had been a hot one for him, but it hadn't been _this_ intense until today, when he saw the angel held in chains, ready to be executed. A sense of possessive, protective _heat_ had sparked out from his core, almost like a sun flare. The intensity increased dramatically when he snapped his fingers and unlocked the chains. There was no way that a silly human having a tantrum was going to discorporate _his_ angel. He had kept his outward countenance out of habit, but he had been fuming inside.

Aziraphale watched him, feeling unbelievably helpless. Suddenly it hit him. "I have an idea, my dear fellow."

Aziraphale stood and released his wings, scattering cooling light over the demon. "Angel, _stop_ , you shouldn't-" Crowley desperately wished that he didn't know where Aziraphale had gotten this idea. He wished that the entire night in Rome could be erased from his memory and the internal scars could go with it.

"Don't be silly." Aziraphale cautiously brushed the tips of his wings onto the backs of Crowley's hands and some of the redness faded almost immediately. "See? It's working. Come here."

He quickly took Crowley's hands and pulled him upright, his wings folded fully around the demon, pulling him close, before Crowley realized what was happening. Some of the heat on the surface of his skin faded, but the hot burning deep within him took on a higher intensity. The heat was concentrating, not dissipating. The soft, unique touch of the wings on his skin vividly reminded him of the last time he had been enfolded within them. Flashes of memories kept appearing in his mind, of flushed skin, parted lips, and gasps. This was _not_ helping. Crowley took a deep breath, trying to keep himself in control of his body.

"See? It's really helping." Aziraphale carefully stroked his cheek with his fingertips, cooling the surface, but stoking the blazing fire within.

"It's _really_ not. Don't-" Crowley gasped at the cool touch on his skin. His breath heaved as he tried to ignore how good it felt, like cool water on a sunburn, blissful relief. He wished that was all the touch was doing. He felt his control slipping.

"Why ever not?"

"Angel, you don't understand," he said, a slight groan creeping into his voice as he couldn't _help_ but lean his face into Aziraphale's soft hand. He hated himself for relishing the cool touch. Aziraphale spread his palm flat on his angular cheek, trying to absorb some of the heat.

"Tell me, then," Aziraphale insisted, his other hand reaching to lace their fingers together.

Crowley pulled his hand away, groaning. He took his glasses off, the metal growing too hot. He tossed them to the floor. Yellow eyes met blue.

"You don't know what you're doing, angel." Crowley hissed. Aziraphale was far too _close_ to him. Both of his hands moved to gently cup Crowley's face. Aziraphale's lips were parted and color started to appear high on his cheekbones. The vivid memories of what they had done in Rome refused to be suppressed. Crowley could almost taste the scent of milk and honey, they stood so close. It would take only the smallest of movements from either of them and they would be kissing.

Crowley couldn't believe that Fate was this cruel.

"You really, _really_ don't know what you're doing, angel," Crowley repeated. A note of warning entered his tone and he wished he could bring himself to pull away. He could feel the heat pooling in his groin and very much regretted wearing his tightest trousers today.

"What if I do know?" Aziraphale said softly. "What if I could... help?"

Crowley twitched within his grasp but couldn't move away. "Shut _up!_ You don't know what you're asking for, or what you're offering, all you'll do is make it _worse._ You don't want-"

"What if I _do_ want?" Aziraphale whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

Crowley managed to break free from his grasp with a noise almost like a roar. "You don't _know_ what you want! You don't know what you're ssstarting, angel. You don't _understand_ ," he snapped. He tried to turn away but was held in by a circle of white wings. He couldn't break out of the feathers around him without using his powers, and risking serious harm to Aziraphale. "Let me _out_ ," he snarled.

"No," Aziraphale answered simply. His calm demeanor was infuriating.

"I will _break_ out if you make me, and I _promissse_ that you won't like it. Let me out or I am _not_ responsible for my actions." He snapped, his lip curling. Anger, frustration and arousal swirled together in a tempest, making his blood boil. Any other angel, or any other _demon_ , for that matter, would have been terrified at the expression on his face.

"Hush," Aziraphale murmured, unbothered, recapturing his face in a gentle grasp, somehow holding quite firm as Crowley tried to break away. "I think I know what you need, my dear."

"You _don't know_ -"

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed Crowley softly, a gentle touch of lips. He did know.

Crowley stood frozen for a moment, shock rushing through his body, paralyzing him. For a few moments Aziraphale simply kissed him gently, cupping his face between his hands.

Crowley pulled away abruptly, backing up into the wall of feathers, his jaw gritted tightly, his teeth audibly grinding. "That's not fair. This _is not fair_."

Aziraphale ignored this, pulling him closer again, wrapping his wings tighter to keep Crowley still. He kissed Crowley again, feeling the intensity of burning heat, but knowing to the depths of his soul, somehow, that it might burn him, it might hurt him, but it would not destroy him.

Crowley started kissing back, despite himself, trying to find the self control to pull away again, but _fuck_ , he wanted this so desperately. The heat within him was becoming unbearable and his arousal was undeniable. But wouldn't the inevitable rejection afterwards would be worse?

Self control had never been one of his virtues, but he found the strength to break the kiss.

" _Aziraphale_ ," his voice was low and tightly controlled with a heavy tone of warning. "Let me out. I am _not_ in a position to be trifled with."

"That's not what this is," Aziraphale held his face and started moving his lips against Crowley's neck, feeling rushes of warmth in his own body. The heat of it was intoxicating. His breath was uneven.

"What is it then? Pity?" Crowley snarled, wishing he could bring himself to pull away as the cool lips ghosted against his neck. His fists clenched, arms at his sides, trying to use the tension to keep his control, attempting to keep his breathing controlled and failing. "Or obligation? You feel you owe me for rescuing you?"

"No, of course not." Aziraphale's voice remained soft and steady.

"So then what is this? You want to _sssave_ me? You want to pick me up like a broken bird and heal my fucking wounds? What do you want?" Crowley's blood boiled and he could feel sparks coming from his fingertips.

"I want _you_ ," Aziraphale whispered into his ear, resting his cool cheek against Crowley's, holding his face firmly with his opposite hand. The level of heat radiating from Crowley's face would have set a human's skin on fire.

"No, you _don't_." Crowley spat out the words like venom, gaining enough rage to attempt to pull free but unable to move far. "You have made that _very clear_." It was the closest either of them had ever come to referencing Rome.

"I _do_ want you," Aziraphale whispered again, his voice shaking.

Crowley pulled away harder, turning his face to break free of his grasp. "Even if _that_ nonsenssse _were_ true- which I'm _not_ conceding, because we don't have near enough time to _unpack all of that horse shit,"_ Crowley's rapid voice dripped with anger, "you definitely do not want me _right now_."

Aziraphale leaned in and gently kissed him again. "I _do_ want you. Right now," he whispered against the burning lips. He placed his palm against Crowley's chest, feeling the heat radiate through his palm, sensing the rapid thump of his heartbeat. He felt drunk with arousal, feeling more brave now than he could ever remember feeling before. Aziraphale's hand trailed downwards, resting for a moment on Crowley's tensed stomach, before tentatively reaching to cup his hardness through his tight black trousers and squeezing gently.

Crowley let out a hiss of pleasure mixed with fury, squirming, half trying to pull away and half trying to lean into the touch. "Let me go, angel, or I will _not_ be responsible-" His voice shook.

"Good. Don't be responsible," The angel interrupted. He pressed his lips to Crowley's jawline, then again whispered in his ear, "I want you."

His voice dropped so quietly that it could barely be heard. "I've _always_ wanted you."

The words ripped through Crowley, filling him with a whirlwind of emotions: arousal, rage, regret, hurt. A noise closest to rage escaped his throat until Aziraphale let his teeth scrape the edge of Crowley's ear, biting down gently, and Crowley's self control snapped. He pulled Aziraphale to him, devouring his mouth, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other snaking around to Aziraphale's lower back, pulling them tight together.

His ground his hardness against Aziraphale, his fire sharply fueled by the answering hardness he felt from Aziraphale. Crowley ripped at the rebel uniform, demanding access to more of the angel's skin. When it wouldn't come undone fast enough, he snapped his fingers and it vanished. Aziraphale gasped at the sudden influx of heat radiating directly onto him.

Crowley's hands migrated to grip at the white wings, right where they burst from his back.

" _Fuck_ , angel, you don't know what you've _ssstarted_." Crowley hissed, roughly grinding against him, his sharp nails digging into skin and feathers alike. "I could hurt you ssso easily. I could _dessstroy_ you, right now, with two pulls, and you could do _nothing_ to ssstop me."

"I'm not afraid of you,"'Aziraphale stated, gasping in pleasure as they rocked together, pulling at Crowley's clothing, wanting to feel their skin together, but Crowley knocked his hands away impatiently.

Crowley gripped his wing joints tightly and Aziraphale inhaled distinctly. "You should _definitely_ be afraid of me. You're literally playing with fire. I am _going to hurt you_ and I am going to _like_ it." His voice was deeper than Aziraphale had ever heard it.

Crowley's hands on his wings were sending all sorts of sensations through Aziraphale's body. Nobody had ever touched him there before and it made his head spin.

Crowley drank in the reaction like he was dying of thirst, stroking with his fingertips from the angel's shoulders to along the upper edges of his wings, watching Aziraphale intently, reveling in that gasp of pleasure. Suddenly the tight circle of wings fell open limply, and knowing he could affect Aziraphale that strongly, only with _touch_ , was beyond intoxicating. Crowley could have spent days exploring the unknown sensitive places on Aziraphale's wings, but his impatience burned too hot.

Crowley pushed him down to the floor, following him down, holding Aziraphale motionless under him. Aziraphale's wings spread below them, twitching with his uneven breath. Crowley pulled Aziraphale's arms above his head, holding his wrists together, pushing them against the floor roughly. His lithe legs pushed Aziraphale's knees down to lie flat so he could straddle him, pushing their bodies flush together. He devoured Aziraphale's mouth, not stopping for breath. Aziraphale opened for him, silently telling him to take him how he craved.

"I'm not afraid," Aziraphale repeated as they broke apart and his chest heaved. His voice was breathy but earnest. "Not in the slightest." He stared into the amber eyes defiantly.

Crowley growled in response as he transferred both wrists to one hand so he could thread his fingers through the blond strands, pulling his head roughly to the side. He ran his burning lips and teeth over the soft skin of his neck before biting down hard. God above, he had missed the texture of the angel's hair and the taste of his skin. He bit down again and again, stopping just short of drawing blood. The fire within him still blazed furiously, and now it had a focus. Smoke fizzled from his mouth and Aziraphale's skin bloomed red everywhere it had been touched.

Aziraphale _shook_ under him. This onslaught of violent pleasure was so intense. He gasped for air, his whole body flushed, needing to receive every bite and scratch just as badly as Crowley needed to give them. He didn't care what the consequences were. All of his skin and flesh could burn to the bone and he still wouldn't want Crowley to stop. He gasped again as Crowley's teeth bit down on a patch of skin near his collarbone. His hands twitched against Crowley's grip on his wrists. He instinctively wanted to struggle against the pressure, and somehow the thought made everything hotter, but he definitely did not want to be freed.

"I _want_ you to ssstruggle," Crowley hissed, seeming to know instinctively what he was thinking.

Aziraphale moaned at his words, his eyes falling shut in arousal, his hardness noticeably twitching against Crowley's own. Aziraphale obediently pushed against the hold, feeling a heady rush from being held still. The tips of his wings gave an uncontrollable flutter.

Crowley's hand pinched his wrists tighter and he chuckled darkly, feeling a fiery streak of adrenaline and arousal at Aziraphale's submissive reactions. He let his mouth wander down Aziraphale's chest, remembering the sensitive spots as if he had been here only an hour ago, not millennia. He dragged his nails down Aziraphale's chest again, this time giving into the urge to let his nails scratch until red lines of torn skin appeared, surrounded by patches of red that looked like sunburn. His mouth dropped lower, tickling the sparse hairs on Aziraphale's soft stomach.

He let go of Aziraphale's wrists in order to move further down his body. Aziraphale kept his wrists exactly where they were, missing the pressure of Crowley's hand but desperately needing him to continue in that direction.

Crowley's mouth travelled over his hipbones, red marks appearing everywhere. Crowley paused, his lips hovering over Aziraphale's length, his burning hands pausing their exploration of every inch of his skin. Smoke curled up from his mouth into his hair, which had come undone from its elaborate curls, giving the effect that his whole head was on fire. He looked up at Aziraphale, his gaze pinning him to the floor just as effectively as his hands had, amber eyes boring into blue.

"Please," Aziraphale gasped out, "Don't stop."

Crowley's lips descended, the burning heat both intoxicating and _almost_ painful. Aziraphale cried out, his hips bucking up, needing _more_.

Crowley wanted to give it. He didn't tease, swallowing him entirely, immediately. He held Aziraphale's hips to the floor, his fingertips digging in, breaking skin in several places, causing Aziraphale's hips to jump. Aziraphale let out a keening noise as Crowley's long tongue flicked against the underside. It had been an eternity since he had felt this pleasure. He had not been with anyone except the demon, though humans had tried to approach him over the millennia. None of them had sparked his interest. None of them were Crowley.

Crowley pulled off of him. He couldn't wait any longer. He pushed Aziraphale's knees up, fully exposing him, relishing the resulting gasp, pure need pulling him forward. He dropped his head down to flick his tongue over Aziraphale's puckered entrance. The gasp of shock was sharper than any of the noises he had gotten out of Aziraphale before and it fueled his need to _take_ him. He speared his tongue and worked it inside, pushing as deeply as he could, infinitely glad that his tongue was longer than a human's. Aziraphale's body trembled in shock; his cock twitching against his stomach.

Crowley's thumbs dug into the backs of Aziraphale's knees, leaving two crimson red thumbprints, nearly folding Aziraphale in half. He pushed in deeper until his tongue couldn't stretch any further. It still wasn't _enough_. He let go of one of his legs to stroke the opening with a fingertip, conjuring a slick oil before pushing it inside. "I'm going to take you," he announced. It was not a question.

Aziraphale could barely choke out words through his heady arousal. "T- take me. _Have_ me. I'm yours."

Crowley hissed in startled pleasure at the response, his breath catching, wishing he could capture those words and hear them over and over, not daring to believe they were true. He added another finger, stretching him, watching the twitches of wings and the thrusts of his hips. He added a third finger, probably too quickly for comfort, but he had run out of patience at some point in the last seventeen hundred years. He pushed his long fingers as deep as they would go, searching. He found his target, stroking it once, watching Aziraphale writhe beneath him in pleasure.

" _Ohh!_ " Aziraphale gasped piercingly, " _please_ , take me." The new sensations were totally overwhelming and pure _need_ coursed through his veins.

Crowley groaned and pulled his fingers out, unable to stand more preparation, especially when Aziraphale was begging so prettily. He snapped his fingers, vanishing his own clothes.

He spread more oil around his cock and moved forward, laying on top of Aziraphale, feeling full skin on skin for the first time, kissing him roughly. Crowley lined up their cocks for a few moments, stroking them together, teasing both of them for a moment, before sitting up and adjusting to press against Aziraphale's entrance with his prick. He pushed toward, entering Aziraphale as quickly as he dared. It was still impossibly tight. The resulting cry of shock and pleasure from Aziraphale heated his blood, so hot he was surprised he didn't simply burst into flame. Crowley lifted Aziraphale's hips, pulling him tightly against him, pushing deeper inside, impatience filling him. He didn't stop until he was fully seated inside, his fingertips leaving crimson marks everywhere on his skin. Aziraphale's breath was staccato, his face flushed with color concentrated high on his cheekbones.

Crowley adjusted his angle until he was hitting the spot in Aziraphale's body that made him keen in pleasure.

Aziraphale was surrounded and filled by heat, which was exquisite and just slightly painful. Crowley's pace was slow for a few moments before impatience took over. He picked up speed, pushing through the resistance, thrusting against that spot, his hands searching out to recapture Aziraphale's wrists against the floor. Aziraphale moaned in approval, his hands pushing up against Crowley's grip, forcing Crowley to push harder to keep him in place.

They found a rhythm, quick and deep, and Aziraphale pushed his hips up against every thrust, meeting Crowley and trying to force him even deeper.

"Harder," he choked out between rough breaths, "You're holding back."

Crowley growled in response, increasing his pace. "I warned you," he snarled, "that I was _not_ to be trifled with," He gripped Aziraphale's wrists with one hand and scratched sharp fingernails down his chest viciously with the other. Aziraphale cried out with pain but his chest arched up into the scratches tellingly. Crowley leaned down to recapture his mouth, his tongue roughly invading him. He fucked Aziraphale savagely, his groans loud, fueled by the angel's whimpers.

Crowley felt the fire within him intensify even further, his thrusts becoming uneven. He was not ready for this to be over, but his body was trembling for release. He panted hard as he tried to make it last as long as possible. He didn't think he would _ever_ be ready for this to be over. He let go of Aziraphale's wrists to grip his legs, pulling them upward to rest on his shoulders. His pace was brutal.

Every inch of Aziraphale's body was sweating. Crowley was hitting that spot inside of him on every stroke, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His legs shook.

"I'm- I'm going to-" he puffed out, and Crowley groaned, reaching for his prick. He stroked only a few times before Aziraphale was screaming as he came, his whole body tensing, robbing Crowley of the little control he had left. Aziraphale shook as the pulses shot through him to spill on their chests.

" _Fuck, Zira!_ " Crowley bit out, his rhythm staggering. He was not far behind. He pulled Aziraphale's legs to his sides, leaning in, driving into his clenched body, his weight balanced on his hands holding Aziraphale's wrists to the floor. As their lips touched again, black wings burst unexpectedly from his back. Aziraphale gasped in surprise as black feathers surrounded them. Crowley's teeth clamped down on Aziraphale's neck, trying to anchor himself, as the fiery heat inside him exploded. His wings snapped open and out, holding Aziraphale's wings tightly to the floor just as his hands held his wrists. He shouted as he came, pulsing lava deep within his angel, pushing inward as hard as he could, his whole body pressing Aziraphale into the floor.

Crowley trembled as he licked the wounds he had created on Aziraphale's neck, the aftershocks lasting forever. Aziraphale's hands escaped the softening grip on his wrists to stroke his hands up Crowley's shoulders to his wings. Crowley shuddered as his wings were touched, understanding why Aziraphale had been so affected by the sensation. It was incredibly intimate.

Aziraphale's cool fingertips stroked his feathers, sending bolts of pleasure through him. Crowley trembled as the burning heat within him finally began to subside. With an effort, he pulled out of Aziraphale before collapsing on top of him, sliding slightly to the side to nuzzle his neck. It was not lost on either of them that it was the same position they ended at in Rome.

Crowley couldn't get enough of Aziraphale's neck. He placed openmouthed kisses gently over the redness as they came down from orgasm.

"Don't run," Crowley murmured quietly into his skin, almost hating himself for asking.

"I'm not going anywhere, my dear fellow."

The lay in comfortable silence. Time passed them by. Their wings tangled together, locking them in a nest of feathers. Aziraphale's hands slowly explored Crowley's chest, back and wings, for the first time indulging his urge to touch the demon. Crowley's fingertips traced the multitude of bites along Aziraphale's neck, admiring his handiwork, the shock of Aziraphale allowing him to do this still reverberating through him. He saw bruises forming.

"I'm not great at healing but I could-"

"No," Aziraphale said immediately, cutting him off and looking him in the eyes. "Don't heal anything."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, showing Aziraphale his confusion. "Doesn't it hurt?" He asked, a hint of guilt appearing in his tone. He looked down Aziraphale's body which was absolutely covered in crimson fingerprints, scratches and bite marks. His fingertips traced the four most vivid scratches from his vicious swipe. He could see small dots at the end where blood had dried. "I really... I did some damage to you." He tone quickly became tight.

Aziraphale looked directly into his yellow eyes. "Don't you dare start feeling guilty, my dear." He sighed contentedly, running his fingers along Crowley's scalp. "I was warned. I knew what could happen and I wanted you anyway. I pushed you to this and I don't regret it."

Crowley shook his head slightly, bewildered. "I don't quite understand why you don't want them healed," he said.

"Because... because then I won't think it was a dream," Aziraphale admitted quietly. "Because you gave these marks to me and I want to keep them."

Crowley smiled a little despite himself, burying his face into Aziraphale's shoulder, trying to hide it unsuccessfully. He stroked the edges of the white wings.

They lay in silence for a long time, gently touching each other. The heat dissipated, leaving Crowley shivering. Aziraphale wrapped his wings tighter around him like a blanket.

"You left the flowers in Rome," Crowley whispered finally, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. He wasn't sure why it was still bothering him, but now that everything was coming out to the open, it spilled out of him.

Aziraphale looked at him, his brow furrowing. "I couldn't take them where I went," he whispered back, his sorrow evident. He stroked Crowley's cheek, trying to apologize through touch and words alike. "I'm sorry. There was a different souvenir I kept." His fingers touched the spot on his throat where Crowley's lips had burned him.

Crowley stared. "What?"

"The burn. I didn't want to heal it then, either." Aziraphale admitted. "It gave me comfort."

"Nobody noticed it?"

Aziraphale looked embarrassed. "I glamoured it, when I needed to."

Crowley's heart swelled a little. They laid in silence for another long moment, still absentmindedly touching each other, stroking hair, pressing against skin, making up for an eternity of lost time.

"Why did you run?" Crowley finally asked, failing at keeping the emotions from affecting his voice.

Aziraphale sighed. "I'm so sorry. I panicked. I was too afraid. I should have trusted you, but..."

"But, how could you," Crowley finished for him. "I'm a demon."

"Well," Aziraphale sighed unhappily. "Yes. I _wanted_ to believe you. I wanted it to be... _real_ so badly. I wanted desperately to trust you, but... the fear of Falling was too great. And I'm sure you remember how my lot are. Everyone is constantly on alert for what the next plot will be, who will be next to getting tricked into a Fall."

"So you avoided me." The deep sadness, held down for millennia, surfaced in his voice.

"It shattered my heart. How could I even see you, face to face without giving in to my desires again? How could I possibly have kept my self control? My only option was to hide from you." He sighed, his breath catching a little. "I watched you," Aziraphale admitted, "at the fountain."

Crowley stroked his cheek. He remembered the tingle of angelic presence on the edge of his senses. "Where were you?"

"In the tower above. It's on holy ground. That's why I couldn't bring the flowers... they weren't, er, holy." Aziraphale sighed again unhappily. "Then I saw you waiting there, and it broke my heart even more. At first it seemed so... so _unlikely_ that you were acting on your own, instead of following orders. Then as the weeks went by, it seemed less and less certain. It was _so_ hard for me to keep away, my heart wanted me to see you, but my instincts kept me too afraid." He sighed, tears forming in his eyes.

"Weeks?" Crowley's brow furrowed.

Aziraphale seemed confused. "Yes, it was nearly three weeks."

"It seemed like only a few days. And also, somehow, an eternity."

Aziraphale could feel his heart shatter again and his chest heaved. "Please forgive me, Crowley."

Crowley sighed deeply, resting his lips on Aziraphale's cheek for a moment, his sense of relief palpable. "I forgive you, angel."

Aziraphale sighed in relief.

Another long moment of comfortable silence stretched on before Aziraphale was stirring.

"Crowley, my dear... Crowley, I... I lo-"

"Don't sssay that." Crowley stopped him suddenly with fingertips over his lips. "For the sake of _everything_ , please don't say that. You can't-"

"I _can_."

"Please, angel. _Please_ don't say that to me." Crowley winced, pulling slightly away.

Aziraphale fell silent, not quite understanding, but perhaps understanding enough. He ran his hands through the auburn hair and smiled sadly. Crowley arched up into his touch and settled back hesitantly into their embrace.

"I won't say it, then. But I _do_. And you know that I do. That's all I want." His voice was gentle, sad. His fingertips traced along the snake tattoo. _I love you,_ he thought silently, over and over, letting it flow from his body, not sure if the demon was capable of sensing it or not, but it didn't matter. He loved him with every fiber of his being.

Crowley scowled at him but it seemed half hearted.

Aziraphale knew he would say it out loud, someday. He desperately hoped that one day, whether it was tomorrow, a century, or a millennia from now, he would hear it in return.

Aziraphale saw the corner of Crowley's mouth curl up, ever so slightly, and for now, that was enough.


	3. Savor This, Just In Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale was almost sure, at this point, that Crowley was not able to sense the raw outpouring of love that the angel was sending in his direction. It was almost better this way, Aziraphale supposed, because he couldn't be asked to stop.

Still 1793

Still Paris

"I wish you could come with me, back to London," Aziraphale eventually sighed as they lay in quiet comfort, pillowed on their wings.

"Can... do you need to go back right away?" Crowley asked hesitantly.

Aziraphale's mouth dropped open slightly. "Are you asking me to stay?"

"As you like," Crowley answered, his voice light and airy, almost uncaring.

"I might have a day or two to spare," Aziraphale smiled, his heart swelling with emotion, pouring it out of his body in Crowley's direction. If Crowley needed this dance of words, he would dance eternity away, regardless of whether angels were supposed to dance or not. As long as Aziraphale was allowed to love him, even silently. Aziraphale was almost sure, at this point, that Crowley was not able to sense the raw outpouring of _love_ that he was sending in the demon's direction. It was almost better this way, Aziraphale supposed, because he couldn't be asked to stop.

"Very well," Crowley muttered neutrally into his neck, hiding his face. Aziraphale could feel Crowley's lips curve into his skin and his heart skipped a beat.

Aziraphale rarely slept, he never really felt the need to, but right now exhaustion, both mental and physical, was taking over. "Are the owners of this house really on holiday?" He murmured tiredly. "I could sleep for a day."

"They're in London for the summer," Crowley responded, his voice also sounding tired. "I'm definitely going to sssleep for a day."

He moved closer, almost snuggling into Aziraphale's neck. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, smiling, his heart fit to bursting.

They slowly dozed off, wrapped in feathers on the floor, exhaustion and relief pulling them into sleep.

~

Crowley rarely dreamed when he slept, but a dream slowly crept onto his subconscious mind. He was standing in the dark, leaning against a wall. Deliciously wet heat surrounded his cock. He looked down to see someone's silhouette slowly sucking him, a shadow of a hand wrapped around the base of his prick, holding it steady. He couldn't see who they were. "Angel...?" he whispered, unable to help himself. Somehow, he knew with certainty that whoever it was, they weren't entirely here with him, and they couldn't hear his voice. Perhaps this was a ghost, or memory, or fantasy. His mind floated. Where was he?

"...'Ziraphale?" he whispered softly, hopefully. Why couldn't they hear him?

The suction increased and Crowley moaned, his hips trying to thrust forward as he craved more of the sensation. Something was holding him to the wall. He looked down again and the shadows had lifted enough to show familiar, kind blue eyes.

He wanted to reach down to run his fingers through the blond fluff of hair that he knew came along with that set of eyes, but his hands were frozen by his sides, held tight to the wall. He looked down at his hands but nothing was holding him. "'Zira..." He gasped softly, the name he had used for the angel in his mind for thousands of years. He had only it once used out loud, entirely by accident, and he blamed it on the fever consuming his body for that moment of weakness. " _Zira_..." He let himself say it again, his broken voice filled with emotion, somehow knowing Aziraphale still couldn't hear him, which meant it was safe. He desperately wanted to be able to move, to touch. He watched the shadows slowly dissipate from Aziraphale's face. He couldn't stop staring at those blue eyes.

He felt a soft hand touching his tensed stomach but he didn't see it on his skin. His confusion tickled at his subconscious, bringing him slowly out of sleep, the images fading. The sensation of wet heat continued. He was _so hard_.

His eyes blinked open slowly. He was lying on the floor, not laying against a wall, but there was still something holding his legs. He blinked several times, trying to wake up fully. At some point in sleep, their wings had retracted, and the floor was hard. He looked down to see Aziraphale laying on his legs, leisurely licking his cock like it was a lolly.

"Oh my G- _fuck_ , angel." He whimpered out loud, shocked, and his hips attempted thrust up uncontrollably. "What- _ohh!_ "

Aziraphale ignored him, continuing the lazy blowjob. He had woken a few hours ago and had become impatient waiting for the demon to wake. When he realized he was hard in his sleep, it seemed like the perfect way to get his attention back to the waking world. Aziraphale wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but from the way Crowley's body was reacting, it seemed like he must be doing something right.

Ever since Crowley had done this to Aziraphale in Rome, he had thoroughly denied to himself that he had considered returning the favor. He would deny imagining how Crowley would taste, would avoid thinking about what noises he would make, and wouldn't even consider what movements it would cause. There was absolutely no need to dwell on it. For hours at a time. For centuries.

To see the object of his buried desire twitching hard against Crowley's stomach as he slept, wondering if Crowley was dreaming of what they had done, was too great a temptation to resist. Come to think of it, he didn't even know if demons _did_ dream.

He had nervously licked the tip, unable to stop himself. When Crowley's cock twitched upward, asking for more, it gave him as heady of a buzz as the finest wine.

Hearing Crowley whisper his name in his sleep was _beyond_ intoxicating. The emotion filling Crowley's voice made Aziraphale's soul sing. The way Crowley's voice caressed his name when his guard was fully down suggested there was _something_ other than just companionship or lust at play here. Then, when he heard _Zira_ whispered, so brokenly, it had pierced Aziraphale's heart like a burning arrow from Cupid himself. The whisper had seemed to pulse with affection and intimacy, on a level that he had never heard in Crowley's voice before.

Crowley's hands were able to move now that he was fully awake, and they tangled into the blond hair instinctively, his fingertips aching for touch. He tried again to thrust up into Aziraphale's mouth, but his hips were solidly held down by soft weight. Aziraphale refused to speed up, continuing his slow ministrations, enjoying the control. He licked around the head, watching Crowley's reactions, hearing his breath catch. Aziraphale's free hand explored the angular stomach and hips, so unlike his own. He traced fingertips around each hip bone, admiring the sharp angles of the demon's body.

Crowley was impatient and Aziraphale was determined. Crowley whined just slightly, whimpering a little bit, wanting _more, faster, harder._ His hips twitched upward uncontrollably against him. Crowley's fingertips ran against his scalp, silently begging for more, but Aziraphale ignored them. He wanted to take his time, savor this new experience like the finest vintage of wine.

He experimented with different flicks of his tongue in different areas, learning what Crowley liked, studying his reactions. It seemed that the vee underneath the head was his favorite spot. He tapped, rolled, and swiped his tongue there, watching Crowley's hips twitch and his face redden. He sucked the head softly, savoring the fluid dripping from the tip. Crowley tasted almost like cloves and burnt sugar, which was instantly, completely addicting. He wasn't sure what he had expected; perhaps black pepper, or sulfur, or charcoal.

Aziraphale's ministrations were affecting his own body intensely but he ignored it. He was hard and dripping but Patience was definitely one of his virtues. Angels naturally tend to have wills of steel. He had already waited millennia, what was another few hours? Or even days? He could happily do this for as long as Crowley would let him.

Crowley was in shock at Aziraphale's initiative. He never in a million years would have expected Aziraphale to wake him up like this. He wondered how long he had slept while this was happening. Bits and pieces of the dream came back to him and he barely kept himself from wincing as he remembered whispering _Zira,_ and he was pretty sure it had been more than once. Had that been out loud? There was something _utterly_ embarrassing about it.

His full attention was drawn back sharply as Aziraphale's lips sucked extra tightly for a moment, slowly pulling off, creating an indecent popping noise.

"Please," Crowley couldn't help but start to beg, "Please, angel…" His hips kept jumping into the hands holding him down.

Aziraphale smiled slightly, otherwise still ignoring him, slowly licking, then sucking, then running his tongue up the sides. He established no rhythm, selfishly enjoying the noises and pleas he was earning, teasing unmercifully. He ran open mouth kisses along each side. He felt that something within him had been freed. He had allowed himself to feel his own desires, and it was exhilarating.

Crowley's cock was leaking fluid everywhere, turning almost purple. "Angel, _please_ , I want to- want- _ohh-_ "

Aziraphale wondered how much time had gone by since he had started. He had rather lost track. It may have been hours. Crowley's limbs were trembling, his fingertips twitching against Aziraphale's scalp. Aziraphale ran his fingertips through the sheen of sweat covering Crowley's chest.

"You want to what?" He murmured in between kisses on the shaft.

"I- please, I want you to- I- I want to come in your mouth," Crowley whispered unsteadily, his amber eyes focused on Aziraphale's lips on him. Aziraphale felt a heady rush of arousal at hearing those words spill from Crowley's trembling lips.

" _Oh,_ my dear Crowley, please do say that again," Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley's eyes widened in surprise at the request but he was in no position to deny Aziraphale anything. His voice was hoarse with desire. "Aziraphale… please make me come… _please_ let me come in your mouth."

Aziraphale hummed in pleasure at the words and slowly pulled Crowley's full length into his mouth, slowly increasing suction before pulling back, almost entirely, before bobbing slowly back down.

The pace was still torturously slow but the regular, rhythmic pressure was all Crowley needed to begin the slow climb towards completion. In moments he had reached new heights of pure _need._ He had never been _this_ hard, he was sure of it. He desperately needed to come. He could feel sweat dripping down the small of his back. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he woken up; hours, at least. It felt like an eternity.

His hips thrust up against Aziraphale's hold desperately. Aziraphale shifted his weight very slightly onto his knees to let him thrust upwards, just a little. He groaned, wanting nothing more than to push as far into Aziraphale's mouth as he could.

Aziraphale bobbed up and down, increasing his pace ever so slightly, and Crowley couldn't help crying out, "Please, angel, faster, _please,_ Zira-" As the name tumbled out of his mouth, his face flushed heavily and he bit his lip, almost hard enough to bleed, to to shut himself up. He was glad Aziraphale had his eyes closed in that moment.

Aziraphale's mouth was busy, but he managed to me an unintelligible noise of pleasure at hearing that, and he shifted the rest of the weight off of Crowley's legs so he could move properly.

Crowley moaned, recognizing the reward, relieved. His hips completely took over, driving up into Aziraphale's wet mouth, desperately hoping that Aziraphale could control his gag reflex, because he was no longer in control of his body in any aspect. Aziraphale was playing him like an instrument, impossibly good at this.

Aziraphale hummed in pleasure as he finally, fully understood Crowley's obsession with reactions, watching Crowley became a complete whimpering _mess_ underneath him. He increased the suction, going faster, and felt the vein along the bottom of Crowley's cock start to pulse against his tongue. He knew Crowley was close to coming and he _wanted_ it. The long fingers tangled in his blond hair, pulling and tugging erratically.

Suddenly Crowley shouted and his hips snapped forward, filling the angel's mouth, every muscle of his body pulsing in pleasure, his limbs shaking.

For Crowley, it seemed to stretch into eternity, pleasure ripping through his body. There were noises coming from his throat that he had never made before and didn't recognize. Aziraphale continued sucking him through his orgasm, his eyes locked on Crowley's face as he came, seeing an expression of pleasure so intense it almost looked pained.

Crowley eventually pushed his head away weakly, becoming oversensitive. All of the muscles in his body were twitching erratically. Aziraphale didn't move away, pressing kisses to the inside of his thighs, shifting to lay in between Crowley's legs instead of on top of him. He slightly pushed his trembling legs farther apart, his gaze almost hungry. His fingertips traced along the quivering inner tendon of Crowley's thigh, making him shake harder. He trailed upwards slowly, not wanting to stop.

"Can I…?" Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Crowley looked down at him with a lazy, completely blissed out expression. "Anything you want, angel."

"I want to…" Aziraphale's cock was _throbbing_ , and his curiosity had turned into a burning, desperate need at some point in the past few hours. He couldn't quite make the words come out, so he sidestepped with, "Are you sure?"

Crowley pulled his knees apart further in invitation, rocking back slightly. Aziraphale's breath caught at the sight. Crowley was open, vulnerable, and _so_ beautiful. His yellow eyes were relaxed and soft in a way Aziraphale had never seen before. He wished he could capture this expression and keep it forever. His gaze didn't move from Crowley's face, trying to memorize everything in this moment.

Aziraphale's fingertips made small circles along Crowley's skin, inching towards his target but still feeling a bit shy. This was so _incredibly_ intimate. He brushed lightly against his opening, watching for reactions. Aziraphale pressed against Crowley's entrance, not breaching yet, and Crowley gave a soft exhalation of pleasure and rocked towards him. The angel oiled his fingers with a thought, and returned to pressing lightly at the entrance, watching Crowley's expression.

"Have you done this before?" Aziraphale asked quietly, thinking he already knew the answer.

"No," Crowley admitted, "Only the other way 'round," he said, confirming what Aziraphale had suspected.

"We don't have to-"

"Do it," Crowley murmured. He still floated in post-orgasmic bliss. He pulled his knees up further, exposing himself fully. Aziraphale could have asked to do _anything_ to him and he would have agreed. Crowley had never really wanted this before; it had always felt too personal, too intimate, with any of his previous lovers. He knew he would feel _far_ too vulnerable. Somehow with Aziraphale it felt like he was about to be worshipped, instead of taken, and it was intoxicating. He let his hips rock forward slightly, encouraging him to continue, wanting to give Aziraphale everything he desired.

Aziraphale felt a deep heat rise in his face at Crowley's lewd presentation of himself. He slowly continued his soft, cautious presses, worried about hurting him. Crowley whined in impatience. Eventually he dug his heels in to push his body down onto the fingertip, impaling himself a few inches, groaning in relief.

Aziraphale gasped at his wantonness and moved his finger in a slow circle, stretching him, still impossibly slowly. Crowley could tell that this was going to be just as deliberate and torturously slow as the blowjob.

"You're _such_ a tease," Crowley groaned, his cock already twitching back to life. The burning _need_ to come had subsided, giving him at least some control back over his body and voice.

"My dear fellow, I'm not teasing, I'm _savoring_ ," Aziraphale said, smiling.

"Tease," Crowley insisted, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, "you've been playing with me for hours and hours." His feet pushed against the floor to thrust himself onto Aziraphale's finger, trying to take all of it. "Give me another, already."

"So demanding," Aziraphale laughed delightedly.

"Have we met?" Crowley gasped as Aziraphale's finger _finally_ slid all the way into his knuckles. He continued his slow circles, watching every twitch of Crowley's hips. He pulled it most of the way out before pushing in again. Crowley tilted his hips again to pull the finger in as deep as it would go. He gave a long, contented sigh. Aziraphale's touch was so light and soft. Crowley quietly suspected he would be desperate and begging to come again before Aziraphale was done with him.

Eventually Aziraphale pulled out his finger to add another on the way back in. Crowley inhaled at the stretch, surprised at how much he _really_ liked this, his hips rolling down to meet him. "More," he demanded.

Aziraphale ignored his demands, slowly pushing two fingers in and out, spiraling slightly to push as deep as she could. Something about the way Crowley's body gave way to his fingers was _so_ intensely arousing.

" _More_ , angel," Crowley insisted again, digging deep inside himself for the strength to keep from begging, coming up empty, knowing it was probably going to happen again, and soon.

"So impatient," Aziraphale muttered, "You'd think I was torturing you." His fingers slipped deeper, wondering where that wonderful spot was that had made him see stars, when Crowley had done this to him.

"You _are,_ " Crowley contended breathlessly.

Aziraphale twisted his fingers, searching, and found it. A loud cry burst from Crowley's mouth and he quickly stuffed his knuckle between his teeth, embarrassed.

Aziraphale reached out and tugged his hand away, smiling softly. "Please, dear, I would like to _hear_ you." He twisted his fingers again, rubbing against the bundle of nerves, pulling another cry from Crowley, savoring the noises he made.

The increasing intensity of the cries made Aziraphale's cock absolutely _throb_ in anticipation and he ignored it determinately. He desperately wanted to hear Crowley say his name again in that broken voice. He would delay his own pleasure for _days_ if it it meant hearing it again.

He slowly added a third finger, doing his absolute best to make sure Crowley felt no pain. He rotated and split his fingers, determined to be thorough. His actions had Crowley whimpering in impatience.

"Come _on_ , angel, _please_..."

Aziraphale's responding smile was not very angelic as he asked, "Please what?"

Crowley's teeth ground together and his pointed chin lifted, annoyed that the angel _already_ had him begging. He scowled and didn't respond.

Aziraphale just smirked slightly, his fingers continuing to stretch Crowley torturously slowly, adjusting to brush against the magical spot occasionally. "Please what?" He repeated lightly a few moments later. He wasn't sure what it was about hearing the demon say it that he _needed_ so badly.

Crowley's mouth scowled deeper in embarrassment and annoyance. Aziraphale knew his patience and self control were much stronger than Crowley's, and had zero doubts that he would win this battle of wills. A wicked smile grew on his angelic face.

Aziraphale's fingers came to a stop inside the demon, hoping for a reaction, successfully making those sinuous hips dance.

"Angel," Crowley whined again in impatience.

"What? What do you want, my dear? I want you to say it out loud. Say it for me, please."

"Please _fuck_ me!" Crowley bit out. "You viciousss little tease!"

Aziraphale's face flushed further, the words filling him with heat all the way through, inhaling sharply. He removed his fingers entirely and sat forward. He aimed his prick at Crowley's entrance but was struck by another wave of shyness and couldn't quite bring himself to push forwards.

Crowley gasped as he felt the oiled head push up against his entrance. He wiggled closer, impatient for Aziraphale to push in. When he didn't move _immediately_ , he felt another whine escape his throat.

"Angel, please _, please_ fuck me." He groaned, pushing himself down, trying to impale himself. He had never guessed this about himself, that there was any way that another being, whether human or immortal, could get him to behave this way. But here he was, spreading his legs for the opposition, pleading and demanding to be taken.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, his body taking control from his mind and pressing forward, ever so slowly, into Crowley's pliant body. "The way you beg is _so_ irresistible."

Crowley cried out in response, still tight, shocked at how completely full he already felt, but wanting _more_. He tilted his hips up to let Aziraphale slide deeper, feeling the head scrape across that bundle of nerves; his body shuddering in pleasure, inching closer to coming again.

Aziraphale was already desperately hard when he pushed in, and the new sensation of this unbelievable tightness was quickly threatening to take away his control. "Oh, Crowley, you feel marvelous, absolutely divine," he gasped. He moved slowly, carefully.

Crowley flushed heavily, not sure whether or how to respond. He could feel the sweat dripping from his face as Aziraphale started thrusting ever so gently, working his way in. It was a set of entirely new sensations for both of them.

Aziraphale pulled at Crowley's hips, lifting them slightly to get better grip. He tilted and thrust against the bundle of nerves, over and his over, determined to never miss it.

"Oooh- oh _yesss_ , angel, please, harder, Zira..." Crowley's hands reached down to grip at his arse, pushing him to move faster. He wrapped his legs around Aziraphale's waist.

Aziraphale groaned, trying to keep his pace slower, knowing his orgasm was close but wanting this moment to last forever. "I _love_ it when you call me that," he confessed breathlessly, meeting Crowley's eyes, trying to tell him silently how much it meant to him.

" _Zira_ ," Crowley gasped again immediately, silently and secretly cherishing the angel's response to it. He ignored Aziraphale's obvious word choice. If it would keep the angel from saying those three dangerous words out loud, he would call him Zira as often as he wanted. His hands grabbed at Aziraphale's arse, trying to increase his pace unsuccessfully.

"Ssstop teasing," he whimpered. "Please!"

"I don't want this to end," Aziraphale admitted, panting, "I'm too close."

" _Harder_ ," Crowley insisted, close himself. He wanted desperately to touch himself, but he was afraid it would take less than one stroke to come, and he was determined not to come before Aziraphale did.

He didn't take Aziraphale's will of steel into account.

Aziraphale was _entirely_ determined to make this last as long as he possibly could. He was still very uncertain of what exactly was happening between them, so he _had_ to savor this, just in case. Those centuries without the demon lurking just out of sight still haunted him. He had to remember every touch and sound and reaction. He buried his face in Crowley's neck, kissing softly, tasting his skin, relishing the flavor of sweet clove. He wrapped his arms around Crowley's thin shoulders, keeping his pace measured and controlled.

"Oh, _Crowley_..." He murmured into his neck, "you feel _so_ wonderful."

Crowley wasn't able to respond with words. His whole body was tightened, pulled like an arrow on a string, ready to snap at any movement. He realized he was whimpering and couldn't make himself stop.

Aziraphale went on for as long as he could stand before slowly picking up the pace.

"Oh, _yesss,"_ Crowley hissed as his speed increased, _finally_ enough for him, hitting the perfect angle on every thrust and turning his bones into jelly. His hands explored Aziraphale's chest and back, reveling in his softness. They moved together, as one being, thrusting against each other in perfect tandem.

" _Yesss…_ harder, _please,_ I'm _so clossse_ … _please, Zira!_ "

Crowley's breath was staggered. Aziraphale finally gave in to his plea, increasing the power of his thrusts, going deeper, faster, harder. His body instinctively made an Effort to perfectly maintain his intense pace for longer than his human body could have managed.

Suddenly it was too much, and Crowley exploded, untouched, spilling everywhere on their chests. His whole body convulsed, every muscle tightening, his voice breaking as he cried out. Ten sharp fingernails dug into the back of Aziraphale's shoulders, two of them breaking skin.

The sudden tightness of Crowley coming around him, mixed with the sight of him trembling in ecstasy beneath him, stole all of Aziraphale's careful control. His hips snapped forward, thrusting as deep as he could, pushing hard, screaming Crowley's name as he exploded inside him.

He collapsed, muscles aching. After a moment of heavy breathing he pulled out, creating an obscene sucking noise, as if Crowley's body was reluctant to release him.

He fell to the floor, rolling onto his back. He was pleasantly surprised when Crowley turned to lay on his shoulder, wrapped one leg around him, and sighed contentedly.

He knew he must get back to London, and rather soon, but he pulled his demon close, and held him tightly, relishing the moment. Even if the world ended tomorrow, he would always have this moment, and he spent great care etching every detail of it into his memory.

~

1794

London

Soho

"We're closed!" Aziraphale called out automatically as he heard knocking on the door of the shop. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine, who would even be _trying_ to buy a book at this hour?

The knocking continued. Aziraphale sighed, setting down his teacup and moving closer to the door, calling out, "Sorry, we're closed." Perhaps they hadn't heard him.

The knocking continued. Aziraphale scowled and moved to open the door. Someone was _asking_ to be on the end of a (rather polite) tongue lashing.

He pulled the door open and his scowl instantly turned into a surprised, beaming smile, lighting up his whole face. A lanky demon was leaning on the doorframe, casual as ever, his eyes hidden behind a new style of dark glasses, which covered his eyes more completely than the previous circles.

"Oh, my dear Crowley!" Aziraphale stuttered slightly, a little taken aback. "Please do come in," he gestured grandly. "Let me fetch some wine."

Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, hands in this pockets, glancing around at the dusty piles of stacked books. "Lovely shop," he commented dryly. "Needs some plants or something."

"It's a bit of a mess at the moment," Aziraphale started, his composure lost, feeling scattered. He shuffled some of the stacks of papers on his desk, trying to find that bottle of red he had opened earlier. It had been many months since they had seen each other in Paris. He could feel his face flushing slightly as his mind couldn't help but conjure images of them tangled together on a hard wooden floor in a manor house just outside of the city.

"My lot has assigned me back to London," Crowley stated as his saunter took him up and down the aisles of bookshelves, throwing some sauntering here and there, adding in a little bit of a lurk, glancing around uninterestedly at the books, "starting tomorrow. You must be doing too much Good around here." He paused, picking up a random book to glance at the cover, then the back, and immediately putting it down again. "However, the flat I've been assigned isn't available until tomorrow night. Perhaps you have a couch to spare so I can sleep?" He didn't mention that his place in Paris was still his, until the end of the week actually, and he could have taken his jolly time getting here.

"Er, of course, my dear fellow. There's one that's very comfortable." He hesitated for a moment. "Or, there's also a bed you could use, if you like." Crowley's eyebrow twitched upward and suddenly the room felt very warm to Aziraphale. "I apologize if it may be a bit dusty, it doesn't get much use, I'm afraid." There was an air of tension around Crowley that he couldn't quite identify. He felt like a rabbit being hunted as Crowley circled around the shop, making himself entirely at home.

"Doesn't it," Crowley muttered quietly, almost to himself. He finally paused in his sauntering to look directly at the angel. A slow smirk rose on his face that was eerily, specifically reminiscent of the expression he had made in Rome when Aziraphale had asked to allow him to tempt him to oysters. He fell silent, walking a little closer. The smirk continued to play around his mouth, drawing Aziraphale's entire attention. Aziraphale wished he could see the demon's eyes. It was so difficult to tell what he was thinking with those glasses. Aziraphale suspected that was the point.

They stood a few feet apart, facing each other. There was tension in the air, a spark of nervous energy. Aziraphale wrung his hands slightly and couldn't think of anything to say.

Then, like two halves of a powerful magnet being pulled together, they both stepped forward at once, nearly crashing, their lips devouring each other, their bodies pressing together as tightly as they could without knocking the other over. Their tongues danced together and their groins thrusted against each other, hardness meeting hardness.

"I have missed you so," Aziraphale panted in between kisses, his aura positively radiating love, his arms tight around Crowley's waist.

Crowley didn't respond, but his guarded expression brightened quite noticeably, and his enthusiasm for the kiss increased, impossibly, and that was all Aziraphale needed. Aziraphale reached up and pulled off the glasses, tossing them onto his desk. Crowley looked almost startled at his daring but didn't comment on it. Aziraphale gazed into his golden eyes lovingly, stroking his long auburn hair.

"Where's this bed you spoke of?" Crowley asked, both hands reaching around to cup the angel's arse tightly, his voice low, tight, and almost panicked.

"Up-upstairs," the angel stuttered slightly. The demon's hands were hot against him. The feeling of being _hunted_ was back, and in triplicate. He felt his body instinctively wanting to freeze still and fought against it, surprised at the impulse.

He led them to a door, opening it and climbing up the stairs. Crowley followed _just_ behind him, his eyes unashamedly focused on the plump arse bouncing in front of him. Aziraphale could _feel_ those yellow eyes burning onto him and wished he would have just told Crowley where to go and followed. Wasn't that supposed to be proper manners? He could never remember.

Once they had reached the landing, Crowley wrapped around him from behind, pressing his front to Aziraphale's back, his hard cock pressing thickly against him. Aziraphale blushed at his impatience and was entirely flattered. "I thought you wanted a bed, my dear, but if-"

Crowley pushed him face first to a wall, grinding against him, thrusting his cock along the channel between his arse cheeks, his teeth sinking into the scruff of his neck. Heat radiated from him. Aziraphale rose slightly on his toes from the onslaught, arching his back, breathing heavily, _wanting_ so hard that it almost hurt. He was almost disappointed when Crowley pulled back suddenly.

"Yes- bed. Where is the bed?" He tried to hide a slight stammer and failed.

Aziraphale opened another door to a comfortable but quite dusty bed that took up much of the floor space. The small room was nearly bare and didn't look lived in at all. He walked in first, attempting to brush off the dust from the blankets, a little embarrassed at the state of this room. He sometimes read books in bed, but it had been a very long time.

"Don't bother," Crowley said, snapping his fingers to push all of the bedclothes except the sheets to the floor carelessly. "Sit down," he said softly, just on the edge of a command, gesturing to the edge of the bed. He stalked near the door, watching him intently.

Aziraphale immediately sat on the bed, struck by the _intensity_ of the look Crowley was giving him. Crowley was giving off a strong sense of controlled power, and it was both exhilarating and a little frightening to be at the target of it. A single second seemed to drag out in time, Crowley's body almost crouching, coiling in on itself.

And then he _struck_.

Aziraphale found himself flat on his back on the bed, the demon above him, both of them entirely naked. Crowley hovered, straddled above him, balanced on his knees, biting his neck, kissing his collarbone, holding his hands to the sheets above his head.

"Turn over," Crowley ordered quietly. Aziraphale found himself rushing to comply, spreading his legs without being told, arching his back, presenting himself. Crowley was not the only one with a feverish _need._

A strangled noise burst out of Crowley's throat at the angel's blatant, wanton submission.

" _Fuck_ ," he spat out, recapturing his wrists in a strong grip above his head. "I'm going to take you _ssso_ hard, Zira," he hissed.

Aziraphale groaned his approval into the sheets, pulling his legs further apart, pushing up slightly with his knees, eagerly anticipating those long fingers.

Instead he felt the blunt hardness of Crowley's cock at his entrance, and was suddenly quite frightened. He squeaked as it pushed in quickly, his breath holding in fear of pain. He immediately realized that Crowley miracled him to be open enough to handle his girth, and he was dripping with oil.

He gasped in shock, his fear turning into a fiery rush of pure arousal that coursed through his body. Crowley's intense, raw, impatient _need_ to have him _immediately_ was radiating off him, and Aziraphale could feel it pulsing through him, all the way to his bones.

Crowley drove into him, taking full advantage of his loosened hole, his thrusts quickly becoming viciously hard. One hand held Aziraphale's shoulder tightly, giving him extra leverage. The other dug into his hip, holding his trembling body steady. Sharp nails dug into his skin, and Aziraphale hoped deliriously that one of them would dig in hard enough to leave a moon print that he could cherish later.

Aziraphale curved up against him, pushing back, unbelievably, embarrassingly close to coming already, his cock throbbing against the rough sheets, his hips shaking. The... _mind fuck..._ of being miracled open and ready... his whole body trembled uncontrollably.

"I'm- I'm-" Crowley started panting, and suddenly, without warning, Aziraphale was coming, shuddering, his hole clenching around Crowley, who gasped in response, gripping tighter, thrusting harder and harder, shooting deep into Aziraphale, his pointed teeth buried into the scruff of Aziraphale's neck. He groaned into the bite, all of his muscles clenched in effort.

They crumpled down together, still attached. Crowley ran his tongue across the bite marks, already seeing bruises form, and whispered, "Missed you too, Zira."

The time between Crowley knocking on the door and coming furiously, buried inside his angel, had been seventeen minutes, precisely.

~

1862

London

St. James's Park

_"If they knew I'd been fraternizing-"_

_"Fraternizing?!"_

_"Well, whatever you wish to call it."_

_"…I have lots of other people to_ fraternize _with, angel, I don't need you!"_

_"And the feeling is mutual! Obviously!"_

Aziraphale stormed away, more furious than he could ever remember being. He couldn't believe Crowley had the _audacity_ to ask him for Holy Water. He didn't _care_ what he wanted it for. It was far too dangerous to even consider. A drop alone would absolutely destroy Crowley's very existence. And if Aziraphale was caught giving it to the demon, he would absolutely Fall.

He entered his bookshop, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He stomped across to his kettle and automatically started tea, not even especially wanting a cup. How _dare_ Crowley ask him for this? This wasn't just stolen kisses, secret cuddles, or even forbidden sex. This would be a very real betrayal of Heaven, and also a very real risk to the existence of the demon. Why did Crowley even bother asking, when the answer would obviously be no?

He bit his lip and his thoughts started to spiral into doubts. Had _this_ been Crowley's game all along? To wait all this time so he could get the weapon he wanted? Part of him realized that he was probably being irrational, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. Was this why Crowley didn't want him to ever voice his feelings? Was _this_ why he was always still emotionally at arm's length, even after six decades of being together?

He took a shaky sip from his teacup, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks, barely resisting the urge to break down completely and sob.

He put down the teacup and opened a bottle of whiskey instead.

When familiar, persistent knocking on his door started, late that night, he completely ignored it. The next night he ignored it again. The third night, there was no knock.

A week later, while the shop was open and several customers perused the shelves, Crowley strolled in, hands in his pockets, his saunter at full strength.

Aziraphale scowled darkly at him from his seat as his desk. Crowley casually leaned against the desk, perched slightly on a corner, looking down at him with the barest hint of tension.

"I'm off to Kamchatka tomorrow," he stated casually, "Not sure for how long. Could be a while."

A knife stabbed through Aziraphale's heart and choked in his throat. _No, please, don't leave me,_ he wanted to say instantly, but he was still furious, and his anger kept him from speaking. He resisted the urge to reach up, wanting desperately to either pull the glasses from his face and break them or pull him down for a kiss. He wasn't sure which sounded more appealing. Was it possible this was even real? This had to be a ruse.

"Just thought you'd like to know," Crowley said, his voice and posture totally neutral.

Aziraphale's jaw clenched. Crowley stood, giving every impression that nothing he had said had been of any consequence whatsoever.

"Well, I hope you have a lovely time," Aziraphale managed, his tone a littler colder than he intended. His stomach clenched. Misery and regret pulsed through him and he hoped his face didn't show it too badly. Wasn't this just a ploy to get him to start speaking to Crowley again? It must be. Right?

Crowley turned and took a few steps towards the door. He paused, turning back, just a hint of sadness in his tone. "See you around, then, Zira."

It was the first time Crowley had ever said that name while they still had clothes on. Aziraphale's heart clenched tightly and he was momentarily stunned. The unspoken, forbidden words of "I love you" had always floated silently around that name. Crowley using it, right now, was pointed and purposeful. All suspicions of fabrication vanished instantly. Crowley really was on his way to the other end of the world.

Aziraphale desperately wished he didn't have to leave London, wanted him to stay the night at least, wanting at the _very_ least a kiss goodbye, but his body was frozen to his chair, and his throat was clenched closed in misery. What good would any of that do, really? Just postpone the inevitable? Crowley was _leaving_ , and he may not be back for centuries, as far as they knew. And then what? Would Crowley ever apologize for essentially asking him to Fall, and help him destroy himself? His mind spun in a thousand directions.

Crowley waited just a moment, and when it became clear that Aziraphale had no response, walked out of the shop.

The few customers in the shop felt the energy shifting and quickly exited, finding reasons to be elsewhere immediately. Aziraphale locked the door behind them, turning the sign to closed, and wailed out his misery and grief. He collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself, sobbing.

~

Crowley furiously stalked down the streets of Soho, grinding his teeth, bitter and angry. Several humans rushed to walk on the other side of the street to avoid him. He had basically known Aziraphale would refuse his request for Holy Water, and he had expected the need to persuade him. He had almost looked forward to the banter and arguing it would take. He had not even imagined that Aziraphale would shut down so entirely, and he definitely did not expect his nightly knocking to be ignored, much less twice.

He was still also unbelievably annoyed that Aziraphale had referred to their relationship as _fraternizing_. Not that he would even admit that they were in a relationship. _Arrangement-ship_. He scowled, both at Aziraphale's words and at himself.

This assignment on the other side of the bloody planet had come at the worst time. If he had stayed in London, he was sure that he could patch things up with Aziraphale, even if it took a while. Now it seemed completely impossible. How long would he be forced to stay in Kamchatka?

His throat constricted and he fought back sudden tears. The deep bitterness in him rose to the surface and refused to be ignored. He finally reached his flat, just barely making it inside, before the tears started to fall. Loneliness welled up within him, choking his breath. He wished, desperately, that Aziraphale had stood and followed him out of the shop, had at least kissed him goodbye, had said _something_.

He let himself quietly sob against the back of the door, rocking slightly, feeling every stab of anger from Aziraphale's eyes continue to prick at his heart. He was ashamed to let this weakness show, even within his empty flat with nobody to see. It was only minutes before he was choking it back, pushing down all of the swirling emotions, trying regain control. He wiped his face, forcing the familiar mask of indifference back over his expression.

Duty called.


	4. Irritatingly Handsome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is that why your clothes are ssstill on? Because you're cross with me?"

1941

London

It had been 89 years since Crowley had left. But of course Aziraphale wasn't _counting_ , not at all. He just... happened to know.

It had been desperately lonely without the lanky demon knocking on the door nearly every night he was in town. It had usually started with a drink or two, which lead into excellent sex, which had always lead to Crowley sleeping in his bed. At one point, Aziraphale had started to think about asking Crowley to just move in. He had slept in Aziraphale's bed more often than his own, for years, and it had seemed silly to have a flat you didn't live in. He had supposed it didn't really matter. Also, Aziraphale had a feeling that drawing any attention to the amount of time Crowley spent at the shop would cause him to stay over less often.

It had become a comfortable, blissfully domestic Arrangement. Wine, sushi, longing glances over dinner tables at expensive restaurants, exquisite sex, banter, art galleries, mischief, trade of duties... it was, by far, the happiest Aziraphale had ever been. Aziraphale had started to wonder if their Arrangement was part of the Great Plan. Surely the Almighty had noticed what was happening, even if their respective Head Offices didn't seem to check up on why they were both constantly, incredibly successful at thwarting each other. Aziraphale had often wondered what She thought about them being together. Surely if She disapproved, wouldn't She would have make Her disapproval known?

When it ended so abruptly, the shock and heartbreak had been unbearable. Aziraphale mourned for a long time. It was a bitter loss, pure and simple. He tried for so long to move on, and simply couldn't. He was filled with regret, desperately wishing he would have answered the door at Crowley's knock that night they had argued. Sometimes the sound of a knock on the door before the shop was open, or after it had closed, would send him into a right state. He hated himself for wishing that someday, eventually, the knock would be followed by Crowley sauntering into his shop and sweeping him off his feet. It was silly to wish for, certainty, but he still did.

When kreteks were invented, it helped a little. Some nights he sat for hours on his bed, smoking them continuously, blowing the smoke out of the window and staring at the stars in the sky, lost in thought. The clove infused cigarettes were the closest flavor to Crowley's skin that he could find. It was a poor substitute, but it was something. When he got in moods like this, even books could not hold his attention. There were many days, especially in the beginning, that he could not bring himself to open the shop. Rumors spread that he was closing. Good.

The kreteks helped his craving for cloves, but they did not help his craving for touch, and it seemed nothing could. Once in a while he was approached, sometimes by a customer, or while out shopping. They would flirt by laying their hand over his, or by brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket. The brief moments of physical contact were only a sharp reminder of his loss, and they sometimes left him shaking for days, the old hurts coming back to the surface. He craved touch and affection desperately, but getting it from any other source than Crowley was torturous.

The pain never really faded, but after decades, it receded to the back of his mind, letting him go about his day to day tasks in the shop, doing assignments from Upstairs, sometimes even enjoying himself. But every time he thought he had finished healing, something would remind him of Crowley, and the pain felt brand new again. He found a crystal wineglass from the First World's Fair in the back of his cupboard and it nearly broke him. They had gone together, of course, gotten ridiculously drunk, and had even been a little reckless and done inappropriate things in a coat room. It had been a night to remember. Crowley had insisted that the glasses were obviously intended to be taken as souvenirs, but they both knew he was definitely stealing it. Aziraphale had tutted in disapproval. He had found it the next day in his kitchen, sitting on the counter next to a bottle of the newest red wine blend he had mentioned wanting to try. It had given him flutters in his stomach that had nothing to do with guilt for a sin.

After decades, centuries, millennia of knowing each other, slipping into and out of each other's lives at any notice, the remnants, like stolen glasses, particular pieces of music, or certain vintages of wine, were endless. As soon as the wound seemed fully healed, something would cause it to reopen and he would have to heal from the beginning again. Healing, and healing again, and again, became exhausting.

He would sometimes curl up in his bed in the middle of the night, forever sleepless, pretending that the demon was there with him. He couldn't help himself. Often, it would end in weeping. Always, it would end in needing to pick up more kreteks from the imported tobacco shop down the street the next day.

He tried to distract himself by burying himself in work, making friends with local writers, and later contributing to the War Effort. He had found himself recruited recently by an undercover British agent who was trying to take down a Nazi spy ring. It sounded quite exciting, and it seemed to promise him a sense of accomplishment and purpose that he had been lacking.

~

Aziraphale paused at the door to the church, getting a whiff of clove. He glanced around the churchyard, wondering where it came from. He patted his front pocket for his kreteks, thinking that was the source, but he had forgotten them in the shop. Perhaps the church had added cloves to their incense. He frowned at the churchyard, wishing he wasn't wishing.

He opened the door, determined. He had Good to do.

~

 _"What are_ you _doing here?"_

 _"Stopping_ you _from getting into trouble!"_

_"Mr. Anthony J Crowley. Your fame proceeds you."_

_"Anthony?"_

_"You don't like it?"_

_"No, no, I didn't say that... I'll get used to it."_

~

When Aziraphale saw Crowley dancing painfully into the church, his heart stopped. First with pained loss, then confusion, then with annoyance ( _when_ exactly had the demon gotten back to England, and _why_ had he not come 'round the shop yet?!), and then with blissful, glowing relief that _he's still on Earth, he's here in London, and somehow, miraculously, he's going to rescue me again_. He tried to keep all of this from showing on his face with pure force of will.

~

When the bombs fell, all of Aziraphale's concentration went to the Effort of reminding their bodies that they were perfectly fine, thank you very much, and simply standing still while the air around them exploded into whirling heat, flame, shrapnel and bricks.

~

_"That was very kind of you."_

_"Shut up."_ The words were accompanied by the tiniest smile on Crowley's face that made Aziraphale's heart ache.

_"Well, it was. No paperwork for a start... Oh, the books! I forgot all the books! Oh, they'll all be blown to-"_

_"Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?"_

Aziraphale's heart soared. He felt there must be music swelling, somewhere, and he barely kept himself from blubbing like a baby. He couldn't believe it. Not only had Crowley rescued him, but he had rescued his prized books. Wasn't that the most _Crowley_ style gift, the simplicity, the thoughtfulness, the _perfection_ of it? Wasn't all of this a better apology than Aziraphale could have even imagined, for any transgression, ever?

Shaken, he walked with Crowley for a couple blocks, stopping at a beautiful black Bentley. The way Crowley slid into the car so smoothly and comfortably spoke of long ownership, though the car still looked brand new.

Aziraphale got into the passenger side cautiously. The car hummed to life and Crowley shifted it into gear, wincing.

"Not much fun to drive with burnt feet. Have you any burn ointment at the shop by chance? Not sure if I can miracle away a holy injury. Might be dangerous for me to try."

Aziraphale's mouth dropped open. It was an interesting way of starting conversation. "Ah- I doubt I have any burn ointment." He didn't use it. The only burns he ever got had been from Crowley, and he had never done anything whatsoever to speed up _those_ healing. "Perhaps I have some olive oil. Or rather, I'll take a look, I can probably do something myself."

"Wouldn't They notice a miraculous healing of a demon?"

"Well, with the war on, they haven't been really keeping track. We'll take a look at them, I'll see if there's anything I can do. It's the least I can do for you rescuing me. Again."

"Don't say that."

"I said it. Nobody but the car can hear, and I can already tell the two of you are thick as thieves. You rescued me. _And_ you rescued my _books_." Aziraphale's tone made it very clear which was more impressive and important.

Crowley scowled at the road, driving _far_ too fast for Aziraphale's liking. He found himself gripping the dash as they swerved around corners.

" _Must_ you go this fast?" He swallowed nervously. "When did you get back to London?"

Crowley made a noncommittal noise, accompanied by a shrug. Aziraphale wished he could see the stunning yellow eyes that hid behind those glasses.

"Crowley," Aziraphale started, not appreciating the lack of answer. A hand squeezing his knee stopped him.

Crowley glanced over at him, a small smile starting to show on his face, his voice soft. "Let's talk when we get back to the shop. I'll get us there quickly. I hope you have some wine."

"Of course I have," Aziraphale replied, a bit caught off guard. His heartbeat sped up at that hand on him, the fingertips pressing into the inner side of his knee. For a moment, it almost felt like the demon had never left, as if a cloud of their old, comfortable domestic bliss that had lasted the through the early 1800s had fallen over the car. Aziraphale momentarily forgot about all of his questions and his heart ached at the familiar comfort, hardly believing it was real, almost wondering if he had actually been discorporated in the explosion and now he was hallucinating on his soul's journey back up to Heaven.

The entire rest of the drive, Crowley's hand only moved away to shift gears. After each roar from the engine, it settled back into place on Aziraphale's knee. His hand somehow emitted a strong sense that it belonged there, that everything was entirely in place, exactly where it should be.

The gentle touch was also just enough contact to heat Aziraphale's blood, distinctly inflaming his craving for closeness. Aziraphale found himself staring, unblinking, at the long, elegant hand on his leg. He felt himself stiffen slightly in his trousers and tried to think of something, _anything_ other than those long lost, ever so familiar fingertips pressing against him. His subconscious seemed determined to remind him, in chronological order, of everything those fingers had ever done to him, and what it desperately wanted those fingers to do again, immediately. His memory started at clever fingertips daringly stroking the skin of his inner thigh on a stool in Rome and continued, one by one, in exquisite detail, to loosening his arse the night before they had argued in St. James's Park.

Aziraphale looked out the window, trying to regain focus, trying to ignore his throbbing erection, desperately hoping that Crowley was focused on the road he was barreling down and hadn't noticed his... state. He needed to regain control. He was determined to get answers. He tried to close his eyes but images of them together, snippets- _seeing a burnt kiss mark on his jaw in the mirror, the demon's wings uncontrolledly snapping open in pleasure, thrusting his cock into Crowley's body for the first time while he begged for more, reverently touching the healing skin of four sharp nail marks down his chest, being stretched open by miracle to be taken immediately after being apart, Crowley's fingertips sliding up his thigh and not stopping under the table at dinner after they had gone to the Louvre, Crowley unexpectedly dropping to his knees in a coat room at World's Fair, feeling Crowley's fingertips slide through his hair as he pulled him in for a secret kiss in a corner of an old bookshop in Spain_ \- played on the back of Aziraphale's eyelids like an old silent film. He wondered what had happened to his willpower. Crowley had never gotten this deep under his skin quite _this_ quickly and easily.

Once they reached the shop, Aziraphale led them directly upstairs. He had converted the second bedroom into a little lounge for himself. The best windows to see the stars were on this side of the building. He had also thought it might be good for him to stop sitting on the bed all the time. Several comfortable armchairs were placed around a long couch, mostly for looks, as Aziraphale never had visitors upstairs. Aziraphale found a bottle of red wine and popped it open, pouring heavy measures into each glass.

They stood, almost awkwardly, as if not sure if they should sit together. Crowley decided first, sprawling sideways on the couch with his legs everywhere, taking up _all_ the room. Aziraphale sighed and opened a window, lighting a kretek. It had been a stressful day, to say the least.

"Woss that you've got?" Crowley asked.

"A kretek. They mix tobacco with clove and it's quite delicious. Would you like one?"

"All right, I'll give it a try," Crowley muttered, taking one of the cigarettes from the angel, their fingers brushing together. Aziraphale's breath caught slightly. Crowley's expression didn't change in the slightest, but the skin on his neck became slightly pink.

Aziraphale lit the cigarette for him, trying to hide the trembling in his hands. The smoke curled around Crowley's face, reminding the angel sharply of the time Crowley's feverish heat had made his face smoke in France. Aziraphale found himself flushing and quickly turned away, fiddling with his wineglass. He needed to regain control of himself.

"When did you get back to London?" He asked again, determined to get a proper answer.

"Well, ah..." Crowley paused to take a long, luxurious drag from the cigarette, blowing a few smoke rings, not subtle about avoiding the question.

Aziraphale's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. Annoyance built up further inside him and spilled out into his voice. "You've been back for a while, haven't you?"

"I mean..." Another drag to keep from answering. Aziraphale almost regretted giving him one. It didn't help that seeing Crowley's lips pursed around the end like that was making his imagination run wild, and it was incredibly distracting.

"How long, Crowley?" His voice was steely with determination.

"May have been a year, possibly two..." Crowley wondered when _exactly_ he had lost the ability to lie to Aziraphale, and his brain instantly, annoyingly supplied him with the precise date of 41 A.D.

 _"Crowley."_ Aziraphale's voice was dark. " _Why_ have you not come to see me?"

Crowley's casual indifference was momentarily gone, and his voice was quiet and flat. "I didn't think you wanted to see me," he muttered into his glass. He finished his wine in a large gulp and poured himself another.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said again, but his voice had lost its edge. He struggled to find words, a problem he rarely had.

"Also," Crowley added, the casual tone quickly snapping back into place, "I did come to see you. I made sure you were still here, and doing all right. I've popped around a couple... a few times. You just haven't noticed."

Aziraphale's mouth dropped open. A few times? What did that even mean, really? "So what you're saying is, that you've been stalking me."

"Well, _stalking_ , that's such an ugly word, I've just been... sort of, you know, _patrolling_ around your shop's general vicinity. Keeping an eye out for... troublemakers and louts."

"So, keeping an eye out for yourself?"

Crowley's halfhearted grin pulled at Aziraphale's heartstrings. Why did Crowley have to be so _handsome?_ It was beyond irritating.

" _Well_... I suppose you're not wrong."

Aziraphale remembered the scent of clove at the edge of the churchyard, and a few other times he had noticed it recently sprang to mind. He had always assumed it was the kreteks in his front pocket.

"So you've been _lurking_ around my shop. Why?"

"I've said, for the louts. Also, you know, keeping tabs on the opposition, so to speak. You do tend to need to be rescued pretty often."

Aziraphale scowled. "I do _not_."

Crowley rolled his eyes theatrically.

Aziraphale ignored his eye roll and tried not to think about how right he was. "Why didn't you ever come in? Really?"

"I've already told you, I thought..."

"You thought wrong." Aziraphale stated shortly. His voice was almost harsh to keep himself from either yelling or crying. He had a sudden, childish urge to stomp his feet, and sat down in a huff in an armchair instead. He put his wine glass down heavily on a side table.

"I see." Another pause, another sip of wine.

Aziraphale pulled out another kretek to keep himself from jumping onto Crowley to taste the real thing. His hands shook with the matches and they dropped to the floor. Crowley leaned forward, smirking, and held up a forefinger, the tiniest flame emitting from the tip. Aziraphale scowled, annoyed that Crowley was trying to charm him, and far _more_ annoyed that it was working.

"Show off," Aziraphale muttered before leaning in to light the cigarette against the burning fingertip.

Crowley leaned closer to watch him do it, the familiar sense of magnetism drawing them together, his smirk becoming almost predatory.

The room suddenly seemed to be several degrees warmer, and it had nothing to do with the miniature flame. Aziraphale skittishly sat back against the chair, overwhelmed, knowing his face must be flushed.

"How- how was Kamchatka?" Aziraphale asked, to break the tense silence.

"Barren, boring and incredibly cold. Slept a lot. Big fan of sleep, me." Crowley muttered shortly, not really wanting to talk about it. It had been decades of pretending to himself that he wasn't sulking, while absolutely, completely, utterly sulking. His had hated every second of it that he had been awake, which, to be fair, wasn't many. His waking moments had involved wanking furiously to memories of gasps and flushed skin and feathers, hating himself more every time it happened. It felt like a weakness he could not overcome, a craving he could never satiate.

"Am I supposed to call you _Anthony_ now?"

Crowley let out a burst of laughter. "If you start calling me Anthony, I _will_ discorporate you."

There was another moment of silence. Crowley shifted uncomfortably. "I need burn ointment or perhaps some olive oil, if you could check for it," he muttered, pulling off his shoes and socks to examine his feet.

The bottoms of Crowley's feet were black as charcoal, skin broken in several places, dark blood crusting around the edges, fresh blood seeping out. "I'm so sorry, my dear fellow, I forgot! But you made it sound like they got a little sunburnt! _Crowley!_ How did you even walk?!"

Crowley winced. The angel was _fussing_.

"Why didn't you say it was- was-" Aziraphale sank to the floor, pulling Crowley's feet towards him. He examined the burns. "This is no job for _ointment,_ " he stated, trying to hide his shock with another burst of annoyance. He traced a fingertip from each big toe to the heel, _feeling_ the injury from within. The level of damage was astonishing. Crowley winced at his touch, instinctively pulling back slightly at the pain. Aziraphale gripped one ankle at a time to examine him, his hands shaking.

Crowley had endured this torture for Aziraphale, to save him. Aziraphale's breath caught, and raw, burning _love_ poured out of him. Now that he was touching the burn, he could feel the exact level of pain that Crowley was in, and he was astonished that he was still conscious.

He ran his fingers up and down the bottoms of each foot, healing slowly and carefully. He stopped the bleeding first, sealing the cracks, and Crowley sighed in relief. Aziraphale's fingertips kept tracing, taking his time, slowly soothing burnt tissue and fixing nerve damage that surely would have been permanent if left unchecked. He kept touching after all the damage was healed, unable to help himself, his emotions unconfined, channelling his love into healing Crowley's skin, focusing as hard as he could to keep tears forming from the intensity of pain.

Crowley sighed heavily as the excruciating burns slowly melted away under Aziraphale's ministrations, his body sinking into the back cushions of the couch in blissful relief. The soft touches didn't stop when the pain was gone.

Aziraphale traced fingertips around his ankle bones, up his instep, and around his heels. "I can't believe you endured walking on consecrated ground. You suffered _such_ intense pain. For me." His voice trembled slightly. All of his anger and annoyance and frustration had vanished.

"S'not that bad," Crowley said, his breath catching slightly. Aziraphale's fingertips brushed up the inside of his calf, causing shivers to crawl up his leg to his groin. "S'fine." There were still sparks of energy coming from those fingertips.

"Thank you. Don't tell me not to thank you, either. Not this time." Aziraphale smiled at him, his eyes bright and glassy, hinting at unshed tears. His hands moved to rest on Crowley's knees, his thumbs pressing into his inner knees though his trousers.

"S'fine," Crowley repeated, trying not to show how disconcerted he felt at the display of gratitude.

Aziraphale's hands shifted upwards, his thumbs moving ever so slightly towards his inner thighs, setting his nerves on fire. Crowley tried to keep himself from reacting. His body was unequivocally interested but he was hesitant. Wasn't Aziraphale still cross with him? The sight of his angel on his knees in front of him to heal his burns was so innocent and yet somehow _incredibly_ provocative. His artfully tailored black trousers were becoming far too tight. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and push Aziraphale to the ground, hold him to the floor, and _take_ him. Or, perhaps, pull him up to his lap and watch as Aziraphale rode him. He tried to look away to retain his composure but his eyes landed on a bare wall that was simply begging to have an angel pushed up against it. But weren't they going to have to revisit their last argument first? Crowley couldn't bear the thought of starting something only to be stopped.

However, those thumbs were slowly depleting his self control.

Aziraphale could see Crowley's lips part slightly, his breath coming out in a puff. He knew exactly what his touches were doing. He vividly remembered all of the sensitive places on Crowley's body and precisely how to exploit them. He pressed his thumbs deeper, digging into his thighs. He waited impatiently for Crowley to strike, anticipating it, _wanting_ it, but Crowley seemed determined not to make the first move. Aziraphale couldn't stand to wait any longer. He reached up to grasp Crowley's tie, pulling him down with one hand and pulling off his dark glasses with the other. Their lips met for the first time in almost a century.

Crowley responded immediately, his kiss desperate and messy. He reached down, grabbing his angel around the waist, hauling him up to the couch, pulling him into his lap. He kissed Aziraphale feverishly, gripping him tightly. His need was burning hot. He could feel the heat coming from his hands and his lips.

Aziraphale pulled back slightly in between kisses. "I'm still quite sore that you were here in London and didn't come by for _two years_ ," he said crossly as he ran his fingers through the short auburn hair, tugging it sharply the way Crowley liked, being rewarded by Crowley's hips tilting against his, their erections finally thrusting together. "For the record," he added, trying to remember that he was annoyed, gasping as Crowley's hands moved to cup his arse, his touch burning hot. Their bodies had definitely not forgotten each other, instinctively moving together.

Crowley smirked at his gasp, fingertips digging into his flesh almost painfully. "Noted. Filed promptly, into the record."

"I mean it, I'm- ohh!" One of Crowley's fingers had slid up to press at his trousers, just over his entrance, teasing at the action that they both wanted the most. "Very... cross with you." His voice was breathy and staggered.

"Mmmm, yesss. So cross."

They panted as they thrust together, kissing desperately, hungrily. Crowley's hands tangled into his hair, pulling so his neck was exposed, taking a bite, unable to help himself. Aziraphale moaned, pushing his neck into the bite, asking silently for _more, harder_.

Crowley instinctively responded to his request, biting down hard enough to guarantee that there would be bruises tomorrow, exactly as he knew Aziraphale wanted. It was almost as if no time had gone by at all, their rhythms and methods to drive each other mad picked back up like a favorite pair of gloves, perfectly remembered.

"Is that why your clothes are ssstill on? Because you're crosss with me?"

Aziraphale moaned, his hips thrusting back instinctively against the fingers at his cleft. "The two are not mutually... inclusive," he puffed as his face flushed in arousal.

Crowley lifted him bodily, standing both of them up from the couch, holding Aziraphale tight until he found his feet again.

He half carried Aziraphale into the bedroom, hissing into his ear, "Not out here. I'm going to take you in our bed."

The phrase had exactly its desired effect, Aziraphale stumbled in shock at hearing _our bed_ , leaned heavily on the demon, who pushed him down onto the mattress impatiently. He wasted no time in snapping his fingers to vanish their clothes.

Crowley pushed Aziraphale onto his back, admiring the view before sitting on the bed between his legs, his eyes roaming hungrily. Aziraphale almost had the urge to cover himself from the intensity of that gaze. Crowley dipped down, skipping over his throbbing cock entirely, and flicked his tongue against Aziraphale's entrance, causing a high pitched squeal. He licked around his rim, pushing his tongue against it gently, kissing his pucker like he kissed his mouth.

Aziraphale gasped, his cock dripping in anticipation. "Please don't tease me," he begged, and for once, Crowley did as he was asked, the first time. His tongue speared into him, stretching him, laving his walls. The tongue was replaced by a lubricated finger, and then two, too quickly for comfort, but Aziraphale couldn't bear to even think of the demon slowing down. He thrust back onto the fingers impatiently, fiercely wanting Crowley to take him, _now,_ even if his body wasn't ready.

Crowley gave him a third finger, but only briefly, far too eager after their long time apart. He spread lube around his cock before gently pushing it against Aziraphale's opening, trying to keep control of himself. He knew his preparation was lacking, but with Aziraphale begging for it, and after waiting so many years, it was too much to expect any patience. He pushed the tip in slightly, waiting for Aziraphale to adjust to his girth, knowing he was still too tight. Aziraphale curled his legs around him, his ankles locking behind the slim waist, and pulled himself onto Crowley's cock so roughly that a cry of pain ripped from his throat.

" _Zira!"_ Crowley panted in shock and arousal, trying desperately to keep himself under control as impossibly tight heat gripped his cock.

But Aziraphale didn't stop, his arms circling Crowley, pulling him closer, his ankles pushing into Crowley's back to try to get leverage, thrusting his body savagely onto the demon.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrists, pushing them roughly into the bed, taking back control. He immediately thrust deep and hard, letting himself take the angel roughly, fueled by Aziraphale's hips pushing up to meet him and his hands struggling against his hold. His body sang in relief at being back exactly where he belonged.

It wasn't long before his thrusts became savage, hitting Aziraphale's gland consistently, his technique perfected after decades of vigorous study, flawlessly recreated as if they had done this just yesterday.

They both sat on the edge for as long as they could, Aziraphale giving in first, his come spilling between them, crying out in pained release after nearly a century of longing. The sudden tightness triggered Crowley's orgasm, as it always had, the demon thrusting deep into his angel as his teeth clamped onto his throat, tasting milk and honey.

Crowley collapsed, his teeth never leaving Aziraphale's throat. He bit again and again, his tongue running along his skin in between bites. He didn't pull out. After a moment of heavy breathing he sat up a little, thrusting slowly and gently. His hand moved to stoke Aziraphale, who was bordering on oversensitivity. Aziraphale keened at the touch.

"I'm not done with you," Crowley growled, his pace slowly increasing. Aziraphale could feel his seed dripping out of his hole as he thrust.

"Oh, f-fuck," he managed, his voice hoarse. He gripped Crowley's hips, encouraging him to continue, his body eager. "Yes, _yes_ , give me _more_."

Crowley hissed in response, his pace quickly increasing again. He gripped Aziraphale's hands and yanked his arms roughly above his head again, holding them to the bed. Aziraphale pushed up against the hold, the restriction of movement sending pure arousal through his whole body, as it always did. Crowley shifted to hold his hands together, nails digging into his wrists. His other hand returned to stroke Aziraphale's cock in time with his thrusts.

They moved together as Crowley's pace never flagged, thrusting against his prostate continuously. They were both determined to make up for lost time. Another orgasm crashed over Aziraphale, his body arching up into Crowley's hand, his muscles tense and trembling.

"Not... done with you," Crowley gasped out again, how voice shaking, releasing Aziraphale's spent cock and holding down his wrists with both hands, leaving red fingerprints. Aziraphale thrashed under him, overwhelmed and oversensitive but desperate to watch Crowley come again. One of his hands escaped Crowley's grip, but the demon quickly recaptured it, his nails digging into the angel's wrists, both of them burning hotter at the struggle.

"Harder," Aziraphale gasped, his hands straining furiously to free themselves, loving every minute of Crowley's death grip, wanting those nails to tear into skin.

Crowley obeyed, viciously thrusting, grunting in exertion, his skin on fire. His teeth found the angel's collarbone. He felt himself get closer again, both needing release but wanting to prolong it just as badly.

Minutes later it crashed over him, shockwaves pulsing through him. He growled as he came, his fingers lacing though Aziraphale's, hissing to his ear. " _Mine_."

" _Yes, yours_ ," Aziraphale gasped breathlessly, shocked and delighted at the unexpected possessiveness.

Crowley collapsed on top of him again, burying his face in the angel's neck, pulling out slowly. His fingers remained tangled with Aziraphale's, gripping tightly. " _Mine_ ," he whispered again, unable to stop himself.

They lay tangled together, covered in sweat and come, finally, _finally_ satiated.

~

"Isn't smoking a vice?" Crowley grinned lopsidedly. Aziraphale lit a kretek as they lay in bliss.

"Probably. Not any worse a vice than being in love with a demon." The words came out Aziraphale's mouth before he could stop them, and then, almost instantly, he was glad they had escaped.

Crowley gaped, absolutely speechless, and stared at the ceiling. He should have seen this coming. He _really_ shouldn't have said _mine_ , but he also couldn't quite bring himself to regret it.

Aziraphale took a drag, his hands shaking. It was too late to back out now. Might as well go all the way. He turned towards Crowley, needing to see his face as the words came out of his mouth in a rush, as if knowing they might be stopped at any moment. "I know you don't want to hear it. I know you don't think I really do, but I _do,_ Crowley, I always have, and I've never stopped. You _don't_ have to say it back if you don't want to. You don't even have to love me back. You just have to hear it. I have to say it. _I love you._ I'm _in love_ with you _._ You ridiculous, frustrating, charming, irritatingly handsome demon."

There was a long pause as Crowley reeled in shock, still staring at the ceiling, searching for words, his heart torn in two, unable to explain any of what he was feeling, especially out loud. He grasped at straws.

" _Irritatingly_ handsome?"

" _That's_ what you took out of that?" Aziraphale recognized the avoidance, as expected, knowing Crowley would not say it back to him tonight, and might not for centuries, or perhaps ever. Somehow the thought of never hearing it didn't bother Aziraphale as much as he had suspected it might. If Crowley was willing to go through the excruciating pain of walking on consecrated ground, just to save him and his books from being discorporated, he _knew_ he was loved. The words weren't necessary when Crowley's actions spoke so clearly. He didn't need to hear it after seeing the charred remains of Crowley's feet. He wasn't sure he would _ever_ need to hear it after that. And, really, Crowley saying _mine_ was almost the same.

"How do those even _go_ together?"

"You've seen a mirror."

Crowley gaped, speechless, unable to come up with a response, clever or otherwise. Aziraphale put out the end of the cigarette in a nearby ashtray and tentatively curled up next to him, beaming when Crowley's arm circled him and drew him closer.

Crowley lay in shock, unable to form words. Could they really slip back into their Arrangement-ship quite this smoothly and easily? It made the years of pretending not to be pining outside the bookshop rather unnecessary and a little embarrassing.

Crowley was infinitely grateful to have completely skipped over any sort of conversation about his request for Holy Water. Crowley knew Aziraphale had not forgotten, but at this point it seemed clear that he had been forgiven for asking.

Aziraphale _loved_ him. He had known this for a long time, but the insistence on saying it loud was new and frightening. If anyone ever found out about this... he did _not_ want to be responsible for Aziraphale Falling.

He did not have the self control to keep himself away from Aziraphale, no matter how hard he had tried, or what threat of further damnation awaited him. He was far too selfish and indulgent and he _wanted_ too much. All he could do was try to keep from getting more and more attached, and to keep Aziraphale from getting more attached to him. Which was backfiring, spectacularly.

He pulled his angel closer, tangling their legs together, feeling sleepiness drift over him despite his mental turmoil. The warm comfort of Aziraphale's body next to him was like coming home. He had the unmistakable feeling of relief at being in his own bed again, though, technically, he wasn't even at his own address.

Their bodies twined together, the craving for sex momentarily satisfied but the craving for closeness still far from fulfilled. Crowley's fingers did not want to leave the softness of Aziraphale's hair, ever again, and from the way Aziraphale's head arched into the touch, he was absolutely in full agreement.

They sank deeper into the bed, curled together. Aziraphale had not slept in decades, definitely not since Crowley left, probably longer, he wasn't sure. Crowley had not slept since yesterday. They were both exhausted.

Just as he felt sleep take them, Crowley whispered, "I missed you, Zira," and the emotion, heavy in his voice, said everything for him that he was too afraid to say.


	5. Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley intended it as a joke, but Aziraphale's sharp intake of breath was _very_ telling.
> 
> "Preen your wings it is, then."

1967

London

Soho

_"Don't go unscrewing the cap."_

_"Should I say thank you?"_

_"Better not."_

_"Well, can I drop you anywhere?"_

_"No, thank you. Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz."_

_"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go."_

_"You go too fast for me, Crowley."_

~

Crowley stared at the thermos, absolutely stunned. If anyone else had given him this, he would have suspected it was ordinary water inside. But this was Aziraphale, and Aziraphale _loved_ him. Loved him so much he risked Falling. Loved him so much that he had essentially betrayed Heaven's trust. Loved him so much that he would keep Crowley from doing a dangerous robbery- by doing the dangerous robbery himself instead.

He couldn't drive away without him.

He opened his door, bouncing out, calling, "Wait!"

Aziraphale paused, turning back. The light of the street lamp behind him made his hair glow in a halo. He looked absolutely ethereal and heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Angel, let me give you a lift home, at the very least. I'll drive slow. I'll go so slow you'll be begging me to speed up."

Aziraphale paused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "You couldn't possibly go slow enough for me to beg you to speed up."

"Is that a challenge?" Crowley smirked. He wasn't thinking of driving.

Aziraphale took a hesitant step back towards the car. "You promise you'll go slow? And not run any stop signs this time?"

Crowley's heart leapt. "Of course, angel. Anything you want."

Aziraphale settled back into the car cautiously.

Crowley started the car and pulled out onto the road, not touching the gas at all. They rolled forwards, barely moving.

One of Crowley's hands moved to rest on Aziraphale's thigh, a gesture as natural as breathing at this point. It caused the very slightest intake of breath every time, no matter how many times it happened. The sound was one of the constants in his life. Crowley squeezed gently.

"I won't say thank you, then. But let me make it up to you somehow. We'll definitely plan a picnic, or dinner at the Ritz or something, but what about tonight? I'll dust the shop, I'll cook you something, get you some fancy wine, preen your wings, what can I do?"

Crowley intended it as a joke, but Aziraphale's sharp intake of breath was _very_ telling.

"Preen your wings it is, then."

"I didn't- that's, er-"

"Preen your wings it is."

~

They reached the shop, finally, as Crowley seemed to take his promise to go slow very seriously, barely touching the gas pedal, going so slow it was ridiculous. Aziraphale almost said something about how far over the top he was taking his promise, but he knew it was exactly what Crowley wanted him to do, and he was far too stubborn to give in.

Crowley took his hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom. Crowley gently pushed him against the back of the bedroom door, kissing him slowly, luxuriously, sucking in his lower lip, biting gently.

For a long time they remained there, pressed together, just kissing. Eventually Crowley undid the many layers of Aziraphale's clothes by hand, going button by button, moving impossibly slowly. His mouth never moved away, and Aziraphale's lips were red and swollen by the time he was done fully undressing him. Crowley let the angel pull his black jacket and shirt off, but batted his hands away impatiently when he tried to unbuckle Crowley's belt.

"Lay down," Crowley murmured into his ear.

"Are you really going to-"

"That's what you want." It wasn't a question.

Aziraphale couldn't deny it. It was also what Crowley wanted, but that was besides the point. Aziraphale moved hesitantly to the bed. Crowley followed him, pushing him gently down onto his stomach and straddling his thighs. His warm hands stroked the skin on Aziraphale's back softly for a while, caressing away tension from his human body. Aziraphale let out a hum of pleasure.

"Let me see them," Crowley murmured after a while.

Aziraphale released his control, letting his wings unfurl into this dimension. Cool light bathed the room.

"Beautiful," Crowley whispered, so quietly that Aziraphale wasn't sure whether he was meant to hear. Aziraphale felt butterflies in his stomach. Of course they had seen and touched each other's wings before, but this felt far more intimate than usual.

Crowley started with his skin, stroking softly. Aziraphale couldn't help but let out a sigh of pleasure, his body melting into the bed. Crowley's fingers dug in slightly, massaging his muscles around the wing joints but avoiding the feathers themselves.

"You're such a tease," Aziraphale murmured contentedly into the pillow, not exactly complaining.

"Wouldn't want to go too fast for you," Crowley responded cheekily. He took his jolly time before he moved to touch his feathers. He wished a very fine tooth comb into existence and ever so gently ran it along the first feather of his right wing, watching hungrily for a reaction.

Aziraphale nearly flew off the bed at the tiny tickling sensation, a giggle bursting out of him.

"Tickles?"

Aziraphale nodded into the pillow. "Use... use your fingers," he murmured quietly, almost desperately.

Crowley was _absolutely_ agreeable to using his fingers. The comb abruptly ceased to exist.

Aziraphale's feathers were the softest substance Crowley had every touched, and he relished this opportunity to touch them for as long as he wanted. He started again with the first feather that emerged from skin. He started at the quill, his fingertips digging deeply to find its origin, massaging the base. He smoothed each side of the shaft between his fingers, pulling the tiniest barbs to lay flat and smooth. He went over the feather again, smoothing it, flicking away specks of dust and barbs that had shed but not fallen. He made sure it was perfect before slowly trailing his fingers to the next feather, digging deep, smoothing, pressing it into place. And the next. He often repeated the motions until every barb on each feather behaved precisely as Crowley demanded.

Aziraphale's breath was short and shallow, a flush starting at the back of his neck and spreading down to his shoulders. Every feather seemed to have nerves that were directly connected to his groin, sending lightning bolts down his spine. It was strange and unnerving for the sensation to be so closely linked to being touched sexually, without actually being touched. He just barely kept himself from thrusting his hips into the bed to get some friction on his cock, which was already thick and rock solid. Crowley had only just started and Aziraphale was a _wreck_. The flush spread down his back.

Crowley's hand slid up his spine, touching the reddened flesh. "Feels nice?"

"Oh yes, very," Aziraphale breathed into the pillow, attempting to hide his exact level of arousal.

"You've got quite a few bent feathers. This may take a while."

Aziraphale whimpered quietly, the noise muffled, wondering how he could possibly survive this exquisitely wonderful torture.

Crowley's impish grin was growing wider, feeling incredibly mischievous. He slid his hand down the angel's spine to cup his bare arse as he continued smoothing one feather at a time. His thumb dug in where cheek met thigh, and Aziraphale couldn't help but thrust his hips back into the touch.

"Hot?" Crowley asked, already knowing the answer. Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice, knowing he couldn't possibly try to deny it at this point. "You'll have to be patient. I wouldn't want to go too fast, would I?" His fingertips dug in, his nails catching on skin. The smirk was quickly turning into a full blown shit-eating grin.

Aziraphale groaned, tension growing, feverishly wanting those fingers to either pull down hard in a scratch against his skin, or reach in to do unspeakable things inside him. His toes curled in both pleasure and frustration. Crowley hadn't even finished a third of a wing yet, and he was falling apart, his cock already dripping.

"I- you-" Words failed Aziraphale, such a rare occurrence. "Tease," he managed to whimper, unable to voice anything more.

"My dear angel, I'm not teasing, I'm _sssavoring,_ as you have said." Crowley's voice was soft but full of underlying tension as he continued slowly digging, stoking, and pressing, feather by feather. "Do you remember, in Paris? You know which time. You played with me for _hours_ even after I _begged_ you to let me come. I've never repaid that particular favor. It's your turn to beg."

Aziraphale whimpered again, digging deep for strength. "I won't," he said, his voice trembling, trying to convince himself more than convince Crowley. Neither of them believed it.

"Oh, I'm sure you will." Crowley's voice was flippantly confident. Aziraphale didn't need to see Crowley's face to know he was grinning wider than his face seemed to allow.

Crowley moved to the next feather as his other hand traced up and down the cleft of his arse, indicating the unspoken promise of what was to come. Aziraphale bit his lip to keep from crying out. He was entirely overwhelmed by sensation and Crowley knew it. Crowley continued to take his time, his fingers slow and deliberate.

Crowley touched only one feather at a time, and he had thousands of feathers. As Time stretched out, Aziraphale's body was torn between which sensation to lean into. He alternated between trying to thrust his cock into the bed, or his hips against his fingers trailing along the skin of his arse, or his shoulders into the fingers deep in his feathers. He couldn't keep still as the need for _more_ from all directions overwhelmed him. He bit his lip to keep himself from speaking, knowing he was close to asking for _something, anything_ to give him release. Crowley somehow always had been able to get under his skin, and destabilize his normally unshakable willpower. It wasn't _fair._

Crowley continued to go feather by feather, root to tip. The pattern of it, the simplicity, was enough to slowly, steadily feed Crowley's determination to continue until the end. An absurd amount of Time passed before Crowley had preened every feather of Aziraphale's right wing. He finished with both hands, smoothing the wing in soft, downward strokes, almost petting it, from wing joint to tip. Aziraphale's nerves were on fire, his whole body flushed red, his lips bitten raw.

"You're doing so well, angel," Crowley whispered, heavy heat in his voice. "Look at you humping the bed, you must be _so_ hard. You've been ever so patient."

The words were deceptively soothing, but his tone held a hint of ferocity that did not go unnoticed. An audible whine formed in the back of Aziraphale's throat, and he grit his teeth and pressed his lips together to keep himself from letting it out.

"Do you think you deserve a break?" Crowley asked, the question heavily loaded.

Aziraphale hesitated, not sure how to answer. Either response seemed to invite trouble, and there was no way to avoid answering. He finally nodded into the pillow, bracing himself for the result.

Crowley leaned forward, pressing his bare chest against Aziraphale's back, his hard cock nearly bursting out of his trousers to lay along Aziraphale's cleft, his lips brushing against the curve of Crowley's ear. Aziraphale gasped noisily in relief at the skin to skin contact and shuddered in pleasure. He thrusted back against the hard cock, wanting it inside him desperately, almost giving into begging for it in that moment, his composure entirely shattered, the last shred of his dignity dangling by a thread.

A long tongue dipped into the shell of his ear, earning another shrill gasp, and then withdrew to speak.

"Well, I don't." His tone was suddenly casual, almost businesslike. Crowley quickly returned to a sitting position.

The buried whine from the back of Aziraphale's throat escaped, embarrassingly loudly, and he automatically bucked up onto his hands, pushing his torso upwards, trying to regain contact. Crowley saw it coming and pushed him back down immediately. Crowley seized one arm at a time, rotating them from the angel's sides to above his head, careful to keep his right wing out of the way, not wanting to undo his careful work.

Crowley held down his wrists tightly, _wanting_ Aziraphale to struggle against his hands and immediately getting his wish. He laid down against Aziraphale again so he could whisper into his ear, his lips brushing against the edges, leaving red marks of heat. Aziraphale sighed in relief as the contact with his skin returned, confused but grateful, his arse pressing back against the bulge in Crowley's trousers. His couldn't help his body begging so loudly, but he continued to bite his lips, determined to keep his voice silent.

"You sssee, I happen to remember that occasion in Paris quite vividly, in case you've forgotten it," Crowley murmured into his ear, making sure to touch it with his tongue at almost every word, "and I remember that after you had finished teasing me with your mouth for hours, you then teased me with your fingers for _hours more_."

Aziraphale moaned into the pillow, burying his face. He could hardly have forgotten Paris. He had meticulously stored those days on the floor in the manor house into his memory, forever ingraining them, detail by detail, as if memorizing a passage in a book. He had returned there in his memory, countless times, when Crowley had been gone from his life. He remembered it as clearly as if it had happened a moment ago. The vision of the first time his finger had entered Crowley's body sprang instantly to his mind, as if by command. Crowley had resorted to digging his heels into the floor and impaling himself out of frustrated need. Aziraphale's hips tried to thrust both forward into the bed and back into the hard bulge against his arse, the urge to come almost unbearable, all of his senses overwhelmed, the memories of Paris heating every touch.

"I also ssseem to recall," Crowley continued, his voice becoming lower and lower, scraping his teeth on the skin of Aziraphale's neck, "in case you do not remember, that I _begged_ you, quite _prettily_ I believe, and you _ssstill_ didn't fuck me properly, for _even longer_." His teeth bit into Aziraphale's neck, not nearly hard enough to satisfy.

Aziraphale absolutely did recall, and the sounds of Crowley's pleading words echoed around his mind, as perfect as a recording, " _Oooh- oh_ yesss _, angel, please, harder,_ Zira _..._ "

Aziraphale's hips increased pace frantically, and he knew he was close to the point of no return. The tease of the fabric-covered cock against his bare arse was almost enough for him if Crowley continued panting into his ear like this. Small noises escaped from his throat.

"So, I'll ask you the question again, and mind how you anssswer," Crowley said quietly, dangerously, "do you think you deserve a break?"

Aziraphale groaned into the pillow in frustration, breathing deep, before shaking his head once, very slightly, side to side, knowing he had no other option.

"I'm _ever_ ssso glad we agree."

Crowley sat back up, holding his wrists tightly to the bed as Aziraphale predictably tried to arch up to him.

"Be ssstill," Crowley hissed, a hint of a threat in his voice. Aziraphale held as still as he could, his hips still twitching uncontrollably. He fought internally, wanting desperately to beg for release. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed to keep himself silent.

Crowley released his wrists to sit up fully again.

"Now," he said, the casual tone back, "where was I?"

Crowley started on the first feather on his left wing.

The thought of going through his entire left wing, with all of Aziraphale's senses still on fire, seconds from coming untouched, was unbearable.

" _Please!_ " The word burst from Aziraphale's mouth and Crowley chuckled darkly.

"That's the _one_ thing I'm unsure about. Perhaps your memory is better than mine? I can't quite recall _exactly_ how many times I said _please_ while you were torturing me. It was definitely more than five. But my memory fails me- was it ssseven? Eight? Or perhaps a round dozen?"

Aziraphale had never thought to _count_ in his many trips back into that memory. If he had any scrap of focusing power left, he could have remembered, but his mental capabilities were very quickly approaching zero.

He groaned lowly, muttering helplessly, "Please, _Crowley_..."

Crowley ignored him, moving to the second feather, his fingers digging around the quill, massaging the base.

The touch on this feather in particular seemed to stroke right against his soul, and his torso involuntarily arched up onto his hands in an attempt to get _more_.

Crowley slammed his palm onto the middle of the angel's back, pushing him down roughly. Aziraphale's breath puffed out as he hit the bed solidly.

Crowley leaned in to recapture his wrists with one hand and hissed into his ear, his tone low and threatening. "I thought I told you to _be ssstill_."

Aziraphale squeaked with a hint of fright at the power behind his voice. He felt a tingling around his wrists and tugged slightly, shocked, as he realized that Crowley had used traces of demonic energy to hold him down. It wasn't a strong hold by any means, and the angel could have easily broken through, if he really tried, just the same as when Crowley held him down by his wrists, but the _thought_ of it almost sent him over the edge. It prickled against his skin, like a very low level electric current, making everything even more intense.

He pushed up against it physically, almost grateful that it was there to keep him still when his body was so far out of his control.

" _Please_ ," he whimpered again, unable to help himself. His will of steel was shattered into pieces, discarded on the floor, scattered amongst his shed feathers.

Crowley ignored him again, moving from feather to feather.

It is a mistake to think that demons are, by nature, impatient. For Aziraphale, waiting, patience, self control, and delaying pleasure are all one and the same. Crowley found each to be starkly different with endless nuances. Patience was for things like stop signs, and speed limits, and he had absolutely zero. He was also definitely lacking of self control in most situations.

However, when he committed to a course and set a goal, his reserve energy, what Aziraphale would call _patience_ and Crowley called _having proper incentive_ , was almost endless. He could wait for all of eternity, for the right reward. In this situation, he could ignore his body's need for physical pleasure almost indefinitely. Holding his angel still, watching him tremble under his control, watching him thrash and beg as he preened the soft feathers, _was_ the real pleasure here.

The demon had _committed._ Every time he felt a hint of pity at one of Aziraphale's cries, he remembered his own pleas that had gone ignored. The promise of his own satisfaction of fully preening every feather before Aziraphale was allowed to orgasm was _delectable_. His resolve hardened further as he continued.

He continued to ignore the increasingly anguished pleas from Aziraphale as he doggedly moved from feather to feather, using both hands. He also ignored the rock hard erection in his trousers, incredibly glad he had kept them on, because despite his resolve, the temptation to slide inside Aziraphale's pliant was nearly overwhelming. If he had been naked, he may have given in by now.

He was just over halfway done with the left wing when Aziraphale's cries of " _Please, Crowley, please, my love,"_ reached his ears, and his heart melted, just a little. His attention was diverted from the feathers for a moment. He realized Aziraphale was sweating, his entire body trembling, and his voice was hoarse from begging.

Crowley's left hand continued with Aziraphale's left wing, one feather at a time, but his right hand moved back to trace along his arse, slowly moving along his cleft.

The intensity and pace of the begging increased sharply. Crowley traced up and down for several feathers (when had that become a measure of Time?) before pressing between his cheeks, seeking his entrance. He pressed against it, stroking the opening again and again, leaning down to whisper encouragement.

"Almost done, angel. You've done _ssso_ well."

He wished some lube into existence and slid a finger inside, relishing the cry of relief from his angel. Aziraphale's hips pushed back against him, needing _just a little more_ -

"Don't come yet," Crowley whispered. "I know you can wait. I'm almost done, angel. Just another hundred feathers." His tone was almost kind.

Aziraphale _wailed_ in frustration.

"I know you can wait until I'm inside you. You've been _so_ good, just a little more." Crowley paused between feathers to wipe sweat from his brow with his forearm. He was close himself, ready to come in his trousers at any moment, but pure determination kept his body in check. "Ssso close, angel," Crowley continued, "I can feel how close you are." Aziraphale's body was clenching erratically around his finger. He added a second finger, brushing against his prostate, pulling a shriek from Aziraphale. Crowley's breath caught at the reaction. "Don't come yet, angel," his voice was almost pleading. "Wait for me, Zira, I _know_ you can wait for me." A third finger slid inside easily, the angel's body nearly sucking it in.

The last ten feathers were torture for both of them. They both fell silent, concentrating through the home stretch. Aziraphale's fingernails dug into his palms, he mauled his lip, he struggled against the invisible bindings, desperately trying anything to help him back away from the edge. Crowley kept three fingers inside him, moving them ever so slowly, as he continued preening the last few feathers.

Aziraphale let out a sob as the last feather was patted down. As Crowley started to smooth over the whole wing with his hand, he squeaked out an urgent, " _Don't!"_

Crowley stopped immediately, recognizing that Aziraphale was too close to coming for that much stimulation, _thrilled_ that Aziraphale was still holding back for him.

"Ohhh, angel, you've done _ssso well_ , and you're ssstill waiting for me to _fuck_ you, _yesss,_ fucking _brilliant,_ " he hissed, his breath heaving, taking unbelievable pleasure in this delicious control over all of Aziraphale's senses.

He pulled his fingers out of the angel to rearrange their bodies, pushing Aziraphale's limp legs apart as far as they would go, settling between them. He snapped his fingers to vanish the rest of his own clothing. He pulled the angel's boneless body up at the hips to get leverage and finally, _finally_ slid inside in one smooth stroke. Aziraphale's body was trembling, open, ready, _begging_ to be used.

Crowley's hands were on fire, his control of the heat fading now that the cooling feathers were not laced between his fingers. He knew there would be deep red fingerprints and handprints on Aziraphale's hips, possibly for days, and knowing how much Aziraphale would touch them and cherish them, when he thought Crowley wasn't looking, took him to new heights.

He thrust in quickly, roughly, knowing neither of them were going to last. Aziraphale cried out under him in relief as he sank in, every muscle tensing, shaking violently in pleasure. His wings fluttered at each thrust. Crowley didn't hold back, his pace increasing quickly, knowing he was losing control of his body. His teeth found their way to Aziraphale's throat, biting down hard.

He pulled Aziraphale's hips up from the bed enough that he could reach underneath, spreading the copious precome around the head before stroking his cock in a tight fist, hissing, " _Come for me, Zira,_ " as his teeth grazed against one of his wing joints, his lips smoking with heat.

Aziraphale's body obeyed, immediately, his cock exploding and his body clenching tight, every muscle and tendon straining, his vision going white.

Crowley thrust harshly into him once, twice more before before following suit, his teeth clenching tightly onto Aziraphale's scruff, pushing forward hard, as deep as he could go, wanting to go even deeper.

Aziraphale's body collapsed completely. Crowley gently pulled out before laying on top of him, cradling him from above, stroking his cheek.

"Are you still with me, angel?" He murmured, a little concerned, his lips pressing against the collage of bite marks and burnt lip prints on his neck, slowly bringing Aziraphale back to the waking world. He saw Aziraphale's eyes blink slowly, owlishly, and his heart clenched with emotion. "Zira... come back to me, angel."

Aziraphale gave a long, deep sigh of utter contentment, his body still entirely limp but his mind back in focus. "M'here," he managed, his lips curling upwards.

Crowley tried not to sigh in relief. He continued his light kisses on the back of the angel's neck as they trembled together.

"That was... was.. _thank you_ ," Aziraphale stuttered, completely out of words.

Crowley laughed delightedly in surprise, a rare sound. "Aren't you supposed to be saying 'you're welcome' instead?"

"Am I?" Aziraphale murmured into the pillow, still in a haze of contentment.

Crowley absolutely _radiated_ self satisfaction as he stroked his left wing, smoothing the velvet soft feathers perfectly into place, touching up a few feathers in his right wing that had gotten mussed from his vigorous thrusting. He smoothed them both down to absolute perfection, also for far longer than was strictly necessary, before sighing in contentment, leaning back to admire his work.

"How do they look?" Aziraphale mumbled into the pillow, totally limp and sated.

"Perfect," Crowley said, "Absolutely beautiful. Fold them up before you mess up all my work. I'm actually quite proud."

Aziraphale flushed again at the compliments, his smile pleased and content, carefully folding his wings away. "When I'm capable of walking again, I'll look in a mirror." He buried his face in the pillow again, utterly relaxed, unable to move.

Crowley ran his fingertips over the significant amount of bruises and bite marks on his angel's neck and shoulders. He always felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the damage he had inflicted, though he knew if he said anything, Aziraphale would be quick to say to stop feeling guilty immediately. Crowley felt like he was sullying the angel. In the moment, it was intoxicating, corrupting something so pure. Afterwards it felt unforgivable to have corrupted something so pure. Crowley knew Aziraphale loved to be bitten and scratched, he was a hedonist for sensations of all kinds, but Crowley had never come to fully understand his desire to keep the marks until they healed on their own.

What had he said in Paris exactly? That he wouldn't think it was a dream. At the time, it had made perfect sense, and it was rather sweet. But now, after being together for so long, it felt like he was missing parts of the real reason. _You gave these marks to me and I want to keep them_ , he had said. Crowley expected the full truth was there, somewhere between the lines.

Several times over the past few decades he had seen Aziraphale looking in a mirror, his fingertips tracing over teeth prints and bruises on his neck, always with the same expression on his face that Crowley couldn't quite read, though there were traces of satisfaction around the edges. The word _ineffable_ would always pop into his head when he trying to figure out the many layers of that expression, and it was rather annoying, so he watched for the sake of lecherously watching and stopped trying so hard to figure out what his expression meant.

There was something so sweet and pure about the way Aziraphale touched the marks, even though it was hardly sweet or pure how marks were created in the first place. But that was Aziraphale to his core, was it not? Sweet and pure, and yet somehow, at the exact same time, so filthy that Crowley could barely believe his luck.

Only once had Crowley been caught watching Aziraphale trace the marks in a mirror, and the angel's startled blue eyes had met his through the reflection, wide and almost embarrassed. He had pretended to fix his fluff of hair before he walked away. Neither of them had ever brought it up. Aziraphale always glamoured the ones above his collar during his workday, but as soon as the doors of the shop closed, the marks were visible again, whether Crowley was there or not. One day, Crowley promised himself, at the right time, he would ask again.

Crowley's hands continued to smooth over Aziraphale's back as his mind roamed in a thousand directions. They were perfectly compatible opposites. Was that why there was such magnetism between them when they were apart for long periods of time? The way they fit together felt like it was by design, not by chance, as if they were created specifically for the other in mind. It was impossible. It was perfect.

He desperately wanted to voice words that had been stuck in his throat for centuries. "I- I..." Fear held him back.

Aziraphale turned on his side, holding out an arm. Crowley lay next to him, tangling their limbs together, laying face to face. "I-" He tried again and couldn't, the words turning to ash in his mouth.

"I love you," Aziraphale whispered, a tired, sated smile lighting up his face, letting the love pour out of him to surround Crowley in its essence, desperately wishing the demon could sense its presence.

Crowley blushed and looked away. Aziraphale very rarely said it out loud, and it hit him just as hard every time. He kissed his angel, trying to tell him what he meant without words, but it wasn't enough.

Crowley pulled back, golden eyes meeting blue, and his expression was haunted, frustrated. "Zira..."

"I know that you love me, Crowley."

The words hit him like a train. His mouth gaped uselessly, unable to say the words, utterly grateful that Aziraphale had done it for him. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, squeezing tightly, raining kisses along his neck, looping his leg around the angel's hip, pulling him even closer, entirely unable to stop himself.

Aziraphale squirmed in pleasure, the brightest smile Crowley had ever seen raising on his face, making _everything_ worth it. Crowley smiled back, a real, genuine smile, a rare sight on the demon's face. He sighed happily and returned to hide his face in the angel's neck, his favorite place to curl up into, surrounded by the scent of milk and honey.

He could feel a cloud of danger approach and loom above them, as if suddenly all of the eyes from both Heaven and Hell had all turned in their direction. He desperately hoped he was imagining it. All they could do to Crowley was destroy him- but Aziraphale could still Fall. Crowley would take vengeance on anyone who tried to cast Aziraphale out of Heaven's graces, even if it meant his own destruction. Of that he was certain.

His thoughts turned dark, as they always did when Feelings were mentioned. What of the final days? What would happen between them when they were expected to fight each other, with Heaven and Hell actually watching, not just reading exaggerated compliance reports? Crowley's cooperation with Hell and their assignments was out of convenience, not faith, and he had no true loyalty there. But Aziraphale was a fucking Principality of Heaven, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and would have troops to command on the battlefield. Even if the end of days was ten thousand years from now, eventually it _would_ be Aziraphale's duty to smite Crowley. Was his love for Crowley be enough to overcome his duty? And if it _was_ , if he did spare Crowley, wouldn't that be a reason for Heaven to cast him out? Crowley could not, _would not,_ be the cause of the angel Falling. Aziraphale did not deserve that pain. Aziraphale was the last angel of them all, perhaps the _only_ angel that didn't deserve that permanent hopelessness.

He could feel his muscles tensing as his thoughts spiraled. Weren't those the only options he would be given, at the very end of days; either Aziraphale smites him, or refuses to smite him and Falls because of it? There must be _something_ they could do to prevent it all. Wouldn't admitting his love out loud make that decision harder for Aziraphale, in the end? Crowley knew which option he would prefer. Dying at this angel's hand would be much better than dying at anyone else's hand, or being forced to watch as Aziraphale was cast out. Would Aziraphale rather Fall before destroying the demon? Crowley would rather be destroyed before allowing that. Weren't they doomed?

"What's the matter, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, running his fingers through his hair, concern on his face. Crowley realized he was shaking and shook his head. He almost wanted to get up and run.

"Look at me, my love," Aziraphale said softly.

" _Don't_ -"

"All right. Look at me, Crowley. Please?"

Crowley met his eyes for a moment and looked away, unable to hold his gaze, overwhelmed. He looked back up again unsteadily.

"What are you thinking about?" Aziraphale whispered.

"I'm... afraid. For both of us," he admitted. How to put it into words? "What all this will mean. In the End. That this... us... will make everything worse. That we will have to make decisions we don't want to make. That the more we... that we're just making it harder on ourselves, in the End."

Aziraphale sighed. "The Great Plan is-"

"Ineffable? Really?"

"Well, yes."

"What if you have to-"

"I won't."

"But if you're ordered to-"

"I won't. I couldn't hurt you."

"But if you refuse to, won't you Fall?"

"I don't think it's that black and white."

"Isn't it, though?" Crowley's lips pressed together tightly, painfully. It was _always_ black and white for Heaven.

"Who knows what parts we will really have to play, in the end? I believe- I _know_ something good will come of us being..." Aziraphale trailed off. He still wasn't sure what to call their relationship and this was definitely not the time to be trying out new words for it.

"But-"

"My dear Crowley. All we can do is enjoy our time together now. The End Days, the Plan, all of it, is in the future, at some point, and we don't even know how far off. Worrying about it now does not do us any good."

Crowley shook his head, unsatisfied. "I will _not_ be responsible for you Falling."

"You won't be." Aziraphale was confident to the bone.

"But how can you _know_ that?"

"I have faith."

Crowley grit his teeth, frustrated, starting to become angry. Faith was not for demons. Faith didn't protect them from Heaven _or_ Hell. Faith was no guarantee of safety. Faith had not kept Crowley from Falling.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale sighed, sounding apologetic, his fingers softly running through copper hair, cooling his temper. "I have enough faith for both of us, and then some. Everything will turn out the way it's supposed to."

Crowley was not convinced, but Aziraphale's staunch determination that things would work out in the end was enough to make him drop it, at least for now. Crowley sighed, his cheek resting on the angel's shoulder. They lay in silence for a moment, Aziraphale's fingers tangling in his long red strands.

Crowley still desperately wanted to say it. "Zira, I _really_... I..." _I love you,_ Crowley finished silently, still not able to choke out those words, fear and apprehension closing his throat. Words had consequences, he had learned. Words made things real. Words had made him-

Crowley's thoughts came to a standstill when Aziraphale beamed as if he had spoken the words aloud, his face regaining the bright, open expression, his skin nearly glowing. His angel's eyes shone with unshed tears of happiness.

Aziraphale had accepted long ago that he would never hear those words from the demon, and though technically they still hadn't been said out loud, this was just as good, this was _brilliant_ , this was _everything._ His fingers tightened in Crowley's hair, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies as close together as they possibly could get in this dimension. "I love you, too," he whispered, kissing him gently, "always."

Crowley's responding smile lit up his face, for once free of worry and responsibilities, and it went straight to Aziraphale's soul. For the briefest slice of a moment, Aziraphale thought could feel a flash of Love from Crowley, in the way he could feel his own surrounding them. For that moment, he saw, or perhaps felt, a mere echo of what Crowley had been like before he had Fallen, and Lucifer himself would have been in awe of his beauty and grace.

As quickly as it came, the moment was gone, Crowley was the Serpent of Eden again, lounging, rather rumpled, in his human form. Aziraphale wondered if he had imagined it in his hazed stupor. But Crowley's true smile remained, open, honest, pure. _Loving_. And that was more than enough.


	6. Melt

1978

New Year's Eve

London

Soho

". _..this winter will continue to be one for the record books, with temperatures falling rapidly, and a blizzard expected tonight. We strongly advise that you stay indoors and off the roads. Several flights out of Heathrow have already been delayed and officials say that the airport may actually close due to conditions..._ "

Aziraphale continued to read, the quiet radio simply background noise. He was nestled into blankets on the settee in the very back of the shop, warm and ever so comfortable. Snow fell thickly against the windows, blanketing the shop in white. He glanced up at the clock. Crowley should have been here by now. Perhaps traffic was bad due to the snow, he thought, though that had rarely stopped the demon before.

The faint sound of three quick taps filtered through the radio noise, then the familiar creak of the door, and Aziraphale sat up, already smiling. The only being that was able to open that lock other than himself was Crowley. He stood up, moving to the front of the shop.

" _Fuck!_ " Crowley swore loudly as the door shut behind him and clicked itself locked.

"Now, really-" Aziraphale started to protest at his language before Crowley came into view.

Crowley stepped into the shop with several bags in his hands, absolutely _covered_ in snow, violently shivering from head to toe.

"One of those _f-fucking_ ploughs just got me," Crowley spat snow through blue lips. "Already f-frozen to the bone for months with no end to this bloody winter in sssight-"

"My dear fellow, let me help you-" Aziraphale snapped and the snow vanished, leaving Crowley in a very wet coat, still holding his bags. Aziraphale took the bags from him, setting them down, and helped Crowley out of his soaking trench coat. He hung it with care next to the door.

"F-favorite coat, too," Crowley complained, his teeth chattering, wet hair dripping in his face. "This _fucking_ climate." Crowley started trying to shed his layers of soaked shirts, his muscles shaking in cold, his hands numb and fingers useless.

Aziraphale helped him, knowing these clothes were new and not wanting to risk vanishing them somewhere they couldn't be retrieved from. Aziraphale gasped as he touched the demon's skin, astonished at how cold he felt. "You're _frozen-"_

"Thass' what I just said!"

"More frozen than usual. Shall I miracle some heat?"

"No, it'll just hurt, I'll have to thaw first. _F-fuck!_ "

"Come to the back, my dear, I have blankets already on the settee, and I'll fetch more." Aziraphale led him to the settee, helping him peel off his soaked trousers, pants, and socks. The angel helped him sit and covered his naked body with blankets that were still warm from his body heat. He pulled off Crowley's glasses, wincing as the frozen metal touched his fingertips. He set them down carefully.

"The bags-"

"I'll get your bags, my dear fellow, just let me get more blankets first."

Aziraphale walked to the bottom of the stairs and snapped, and all of the blankets from their bed and the lounge floated down to him. He pulled them to the settee and laid them on top of Crowley, whose shaking had increased.

"I think I'm f-freezing the blankets solid," Crowley muttered, trying to keep his voice steady and failing.

Aziraphale sat down next to him, pulling the blankets on top of them both. They had gotten impossibly colder with the demon under them for only a minute, and were starting to become stiff.

"I actually think you are. Come here," he said as he tried to move closer to him to share his body heat.

Crowley pulled fully away to the other side of the settee to avoid him. "You'll get f-frostbitten."

Aziraphale clicked his tongue impatiently. "Add it to the list of things I'm not afraid of. Haven't we gone over this already? I understand there are risks when I help you regulate your body temperature." Aziraphale's voice was calm but had a hint of teasing. "Don't you remember Paris?"

Crowley's eyes focused on him sharply and he blinked as an answer. His body was a massive ice cavern, so cold the ice was brittle, and Aziraphale had just tunneled in and lit a match. Crowley concentrated on that flame, made of memories of pure burning heat and crimson fingerprints. He focused on it, nourished it, coddled it, knowing it would become a flame that could heat him from the inside out, given enough time. His teeth had slowed their chattering, though the muscles in his legs and arms were still trembling uncontrollably.

Aziraphale touched Crowley's face hesitantly with his fingertips, hissing in shock as their skin touched, but not pulling away.

It was astonishing how frozen he was. He gently placed his palm on Crowley's cheek, trying to absorb some of the chill. His other hand tangled with Crowley's stiff fingers.

Crowley wasn't sure how Aziraphale always instinctively knew exactly what he needed. He arched forward, unable to help himself from leaning into the heat of his palm, even though it hurt.

Aziraphale quickly pulled his hands away.

Crowley shrank back again, instantly worried he had hurt him. "See? I'm going to-"

"I'm burning _you_ ," Aziraphale said in wonderment.

" _What?"_ He looked down at his hand, seeing crimson red marks of raised skin from Aziraphale's fingers and knowing there must be a matching hand print on his face.

"Well," Aziraphale sighed, his hands folding in his lap, clearly at a loss. "I'm not going to burn you. You'll have to come up a few degrees first."

"You- but, I..." Crowley scowled, trying to think of how to phrase his thoughts and just coming out with a drawn out unintelligible noise, which was supposed to mean something like; Oh, so _who_ exactly was allowed to burn _whom_ , and _when_ had all that been decided, and _what_ precisely the difference was, _specifically_ , but the words jumbled in his brain, too cold to work properly, and his concentration failed.

"The bags," Crowley said suddenly. "Where-"

"What's in the bags that's so important?"

"Cocoa," Crowley said. There was also rather a lot more, most of it food. Crowley knew there was a chance of the shop being snowed in, and he stopped for nibbles. He didn't eat much, but Aziraphale did, and Crowley liked to watch Aziraphale eat as much as Aziraphale liked eating, though Crowley tried to keep it to himself. He didn't know what Aziraphale had on hand and it just wouldn't do to have him go without.

"Perfect. That sounds lovely." Aziraphale stood, tucking the blankets in around the demon as tightly as they would go before walking back to the door. He fetched the bags, hearing a clink of bottles, setting them on a coffee table. "This is a lot more than cocoa," he said, rather pleased. He unpacked parcel after parcel. "My dear, you brought me a feast! You didn't have to stop for all this." He pulled out all of his treats, including wine, soup, cakes, candied nuts and chocolates, setting aside the tin of cocoa and bottle of milk.

"S'fine. It was on the way." Crowley deflected as he shivered, pulling the blankets up to his eyes, his voice muffled. "Go on."

The last parcel was a small box. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, confused, as he opened it. He pulled out a bit of packaging from the top and gasped.

"No idea how that got in there," Crowley murmured, managing to look incredibly pleased with himself despite only the top third of his face showing.

Aziraphale pulled it out carefully. It was a pure white mug, the handle stylized to look like an angel wing. It was beautiful.

"Oh, _Crowley_ , I adore it."

"Dunno where that came from. Must have gotten in there by accident. Doesn't suit me at all."

Aziraphale beamed at him with that particular smile that came when the angel was caught completely off guard by the perfect gift. He stood, bustling about to start cocoa, his smile not fading. Crowley settled deeper into the blankets, oozing satisfaction. Some feeling was starting to come back to his legs, though his hands and face were still numb. He tried rubbing his hands against his chest but it didn't seem to help much.

A few minutes later Aziraphale returned with mugs of cocoa, setting them on the table before burying himself back into the blankets with the demon. He leaned forward to take a sip from his new angel mug, throwing another pleased smile over the rim at Crowley, just barely resisting the urge to bat his eyelashes.

"So thoughtful," Aziraphale hummed in pleasure, his eyes sliding shut as he took another sip of the rich chocolate.

"Dunno what you mean," Crowley replied, his smirk hidden, enjoying the angel's pleased expression. It was an old habit to pretend he didn't enjoy treating the angel, and the theatre of it had become nostalgic for both of them.

Aziraphale set down his mug and took the demon's hands in his own carefully, watching for any signs of burning. He started muttering wordlessly, rubbing his fingers to get circulation back. Crowley remained still, the affection warming him more than the friction. Aziraphale winced slightly at the cold, rubbing his own fingers together for a moment. The cold was nearly unnatural in its persistence.

"You don't have to-" Crowley started.

"Surely you haven't already forgotten?" Aziraphale's meaning was clear and held a trace of annoyance.

Crowley's face would have flushed if he hadn't been frozen. Neither of them could forget Paris even if they tried.

"Hardly," Crowley muttered, feeling more warmth come from within him. The memories of Paris heated his very bones. Crowley closed his eyes, seeing his handprints and teeth marks covering the angel's body, remembering the way Aziraphale had gasped at his heat.

He stopped trying to pull away from Aziraphale's touch. The angel had survived the burns, after all, and hadn't been scared away. Aziraphale continued rubbing his fingertips, then his palms, then his arms. His gentle touches ever so slowly brought his temperature up.

"Can you touch the mug yet? I added some coffee liqueur."

"Oh _angel_ ," Crowley gushed.

Aziraphale blushed a little, looking pleased.

Aziraphale picked up Crowley's mug, the solid black one that he favored, and held it as Crowley brushed his fingers against the side, hissing a little at the warmth. It took time, cautious touches and waiting, before he could touch it with his fingertips for more than a few seconds. Eventually he was able to take the mug from Aziraphale. His fingers wrapped around the mug, grateful for the warmth.

Aziraphale watched him intently. There was something so vulnerable, almost fragile, about Crowley when he was frozen that tugged at the angel's heartstrings. Aziraphale remembered tucking hot water bottles into his bed when his path crossed the demon's in Scandinavia. How long ago had that been? The thirteenth, fourteenth century? Crowley had been away for quite a while. Aziraphale had only been passing through on his way back to England, and had hoped to stop for tea, with only an hour or so to spare before his boat sailed. Crowley had been fast asleep, and Aziraphale wouldn't dare to be rude enough to wake him. The fire had gone out and Crowley's face had been nearly blue. It had been difficult to leave him laying there, even after doing everything he could to make sure he was warm enough. He remembered the lock of hair falling across Crowley's face that he couldn't help but brush away. His fingers had lingered longer than they probably ought have on Crowley's cold cheek. For the tiniest moment, he had allowed himself to just _want_ , before he had shuttered it back away, telling himself to stop being ridiculous.

Crowley held the cocoa close, waiting for it to cool enough to drink. Aziraphale's hands continued to massage over the frigid skin of his neck and shoulders as his mind wandered through the past, treasuring this opportunity to make up for it.

Crowley hesitantly took a sip, the cocoa hot against his blue lips. He took a long drink of the rich chocolate, slightly burning his tongue, feeling the heat trickle through his body.

He finished it as quickly as he could, eager to get his hands back under the blankets. The warmth of the mug against his palms made the chill of the backs of his hands more extreme.

Aziraphale took his cup from him, setting it down. He settled back and pulled the blankets to their necks, leaning into Crowley, who snuck his arms around Aziraphale.

"Too many clothes," Crowley complained petulantly. Aziraphale snapped his fingers to remove his night shirt, not caring where it went. Crowley hummed in approval, moving his hands to the angel's lower back, watching him gasp sharply and arch away from the frozen fingertips on his warm skin, getting a thrill at the reaction.

" _Foul_ fiend," Aziraphale murmured, smiling a little despite himself, "come here." He pulled Crowley around so his back was to the angel's chest, moving closer.

"You're burning hot," Crowley gasped, flinching slightly before leaning back to brush against the angel's chest again.

After a few minutes, Crowley's skin had adjusted around to settle more comfortably. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. He leaned back into the corner of the settee, pulling Crowley's back flush to him and tucking the blankets around them.

Crowley sighed in relief and burrowed into the angel's embrace, resting his head against Aziraphale's shoulder, relaxing. Aziraphale gently kissed the side of Crowley's neck as he rubbed his fingertips over the demon's chest, trying to increase circulation. His skin was slowly becoming cold instead of frozen.

Aziraphale's hands wandered, circling up around his shoulders, around his sides, down his hips, rubbing smartly to increase heat. Crowley felt the surface of his skin warming, but the core of him was still frozen solid, his muscles tensed. Crowley pushed back against him, his skin so lovely and warm.

"Better?" Aziraphale asked.

"Getting there. My insides are still cold, but my fingers can feel again."

Aziraphale cupped his face, turning his head and pulling him up for a kiss, the angel's lips fiery against his frozen skin.

"Your cocoa is getting cold," Crowley said against the angel's lips.

"Mmmmm," the angel responded, his lips moving to Crowley's neck. The demon couldn't help but arch into the kiss, despite it being on the edge of burning hot. Crowley melted into the warmth of his body, incredibly grateful that Aziraphale was always so willing to help.

Aziraphale's fingers trailed lower, running across his stomach, making him shiver, entirely unrelated to the cold. The blood in his body that wasn't still frozen was slowly relocating to his groin.

He continued rubbing across his chest and stomach, determined to thaw him. Aziraphale brushed against his lap and paused.

"You're getting hard." Aziraphale whispered, his fingertips trailing back over his cock, which was definitely paying attention to his touches, slowly thickening.

"You still have too many clothes on." Crowley sidestepped. It wasn't fair how easily Aziraphale's touch could affect him.

Crowley could feel Aziraphale's responding hardness slowly growing against his lower back through his pajama bottoms and leaned back into it.

"I would almost suspect that you want something," Aziraphale murmured into his ear.

"I'm starting to suspect I might," Crowley responded, his voice slightly breathless.

Aziraphale snapped again, becoming fully naked. He felt ice cold skin against his cock and his hips jumped back in surprise for a moment.

"How is it possible for you to _still_ be this cold?" Aziraphale fretted as he continued his touches, his primary focus still trying to increase warmth in the demon's skin, rubbing over Crowley's hips and thighs.

Crowley didn't respond. He arched back into the burning hot erection on his lower back, his hips wiggling again, hoping Aziraphale would take the hint.

Aziraphale didn't.

"There are other ways," Crowley said absently, hoping Aziraphale would catch on.

"Shall I warm the blankets now?" Aziraphale asked, seemingly missing the point.

"If you like. Though that's not what I was thinking." Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale snapped and the blankets took on a soft heat, slowly increasing temperature as the minutes slid by. His hands continued to rub against the demon's chest. "What exactly did you have in mind?" He asked.

"Oh, thass' _lovely_." Crowley squirmed deeper into the blankets, the heat slowly sinking in. He could feel Aziraphale's cock twitch against his back at his movements and he wondered how blatant he would have to be, to get what he wanted. Surely he was sending all the right signals?

"What do you have in mind?" Aziraphale repeated, ever so casually, as if he didn't know exactly what Crowley was trying to imply.

"Well, you know," he muttered as he pushed his hips back against Aziraphale's cock pointedly.

Aziraphale ran his fingers back to Crowley's stomach, enjoying the feel of tight muscles sliding under skin, holding him close. Crowley hummed, his hips twitching again. Aziraphale took his cock in his other hand, gently, slowly stroking.

"Is this what you have in mind?" Aziraphale asked, his lips on the edges of Crowley's ear, his voice heavy.

"Partly," Crowley hummed as he thrust up into his palm. His hands moved to grip Aziraphale's thighs around him, fingertips digging in.

"What else?" Aziraphale asked, wanting to hear it out loud.

"You _know_."

"I rather think I do. Say it for me." Aziraphale purred into his ear.

" _Obviousssly_ , I- I want- I want-" Crowley's hips bucked up into the angel's quickly tightening fist and for a moment his thoughts scattered into a hissing gasp.

"Yes?"

"Give it to me," Crowley whispered, "fuck me."

Aziraphale flushed red, his expression pleased, feeling his erection twitch into Crowley's back, letting the demon feel how much he wanted to take him. "Do you want to go upstairs?" He asked, his hips making small movements, unable to help showing his eagerness.

"No. Right here. _Take_ me." Crowley's voice was quiet but breathless as he thrust back again.

Aziraphale flushed deeper. He was always _so_ affected by Crowley's words, it had never changed. He continued to stroke him with one hand, and slowly slid his other hand down between Crowley's thighs, spreading them open. He didn't have the right angle or long enough arms to do much but gently stroke against Crowley's entrance, but he was in no hurry.

Crowley hummed in satisfaction as Aziraphale's finger dipped slightly inside, feeling the heat of it multiply within him. Warmth surrounded him, making him ever so comfortable. Aziraphale took his time, playing with his rim, gently kissing the back and sides of his neck. He stroked his cock in a loose fist as he teased at his entrance for a long time. Crowley moaned when he felt lips brush against his neck. He had never felt quite so safe and looked after.

Aziraphale's hands stalled for a moment to readjust, pulling Crowley's body further up against his chest, turning him slightly so he had better reach. His hands returned, a slick finger pushing inside, making Crowley sigh and wiggle his hips, silently asking for _more_.

The finger eventually became two, gently moving inside him. Aziraphale's movements were slow and deliberate. He still only had enough reach to get inside to the second knuckle. Crowley pushed down against him, already impatient, not wanting to be teased.

Aziraphale's fingers pulled out. Crowley instinctively let out a rather loud whine, and he didn't even have the courtesy to look embarrassed about it.

"Oh, hush," Aziraphale laughed delightedly. He sat up and rearranged their bodies, pushing Crowley onto his back under the blankets. He laid on top of the demon for a moment, pulling the blankets on top of them both, covering them in a cocoon of warmth.

Aziraphale's fingers returned to enter the demon's body, as gently as he could. Crowley let out a sigh of relief as he was filled again. His hips jerked upwards as Aziraphale's hardness rested against his own.

Crowley melted into the couch, muscles trembling slightly as the tenseness in his arms and legs finally lessened. Everything was so _warm_ , soft, safe.

"Kiss me," Crowley whimpered, raising his head to meet the angel.

Aziraphale leaned forward eagerly, pressing their lips together, slipping his tongue in when Crowley immediately opened under him.

Aziraphale added a third finger and relished the moan the Crowley let out against his lips. It had been a long time since Crowley had asked to be taken, and it had never been like quite like _this_.

"Oh, fuck," Crowley whispered as he was stretched, his hips flexing to invite his fingers further in. Aziraphale hooked his fingers to press against his prostate, his face flushing as Crowley's mouth dropped open against his lips, breathing in the moan that escaped from him.

"More," Crowley demanded, gripping Aziraphale's shoulders.

"Such a pushy bottom." Aziraphale smiled, rotating his fingers, trying to be thorough. He returned to kiss Crowley, shutting him up for a moment.

Crowley moaned against his mouth, digging fingernails into his back. A small part of his brain absently wondered where exactly Aziraphale had picked up that term. His hips thrust up, their cocks rubbing together. A slow flush was starting to spread across his chest, his blood warming.

"Angel," He panted against his lips, "don't make me wait." He breathed in sharply as the fingers brushed against his prostate again. "I _need_ you." He whispered.

Aziraphale shuddered in response to those words and removed his fingers, shaken. He pulled back slightly, pushing one of Crowley's legs to the side and folding it up against the demon's chest. He wished more lube into existence and stroked it around his cock, looking down at Crowley in wonderment. The demon had never said _need_ before. Aziraphale had never seen him this wanton and submissive. He couldn't tease now, even if he had wanted to. He wanted to say something, wanted to ask Crowley to say _need_ again, but...

He bit his tongue and lined up his dripping cock to Crowley's entrance, pressing forward gently before pausing, taking breaths to control himself. Crowley was still _so_ tight.

Crowley writhed on the head of Aziraphale's cock, pushing himself onto it, his jaw dropping open in a shuddering breath as pure heat spread through his body, so much more effectively warming him than cocoa or touch.

Aziraphale pulled out the tip to slide back in, just a little further, and then pulled back again. He worked Crowley open ever so slowly, letting him adjust, savoring the tiny noises the demon was making. When Aziraphale finally bottomed out, they both sighed in relief, pausing for a moment. Aziraphale pulled almost all the way out before sliding back inside. They established a slow rhythm. Aziraphale kissed the side of his neck, long, open mouth kisses, scraping teeth against his skin as he thrusted into slick heat.

Crowley's impatience melted away, the burn of Aziraphale's cock moving smoothly inside him calming him, grounding him. He relaxed entirely, his body sinking into the couch, all of his muscles finally falling entirely loose.

"Oh, _angel_ ," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut, barely loud enough to be heard.

"You're _so_ tight," Aziraphale responded, his voice trembling slightly. "Too fast?"

Crowley let out a low, quiet chuckle, opening his eyes and focusing his yellow gaze directly into Aziraphale's eyes. "Not too fassst for _me_ ," he said, his lips curling up in amusement.

Aziraphale flushed, letting out a breathy laugh, remembering the night he had told Crowley he went too fast, only to be definitively, absolutely, explicitly proven wrong.

Aziraphale's pace picked up slightly, pushing through resistance over and over until it faded completely away, moving easily now, their bodies slapping together. He couldn't tear his mouth away from the demon's neck, his lips and tongue tasting cloves and cocoa.

Crowley rested his heels on Aziraphale's back lightly, trying to ground himself, feeling like he would surely either float away at any moment, or sink entirely through the settee and lay in a puddle on the floor. Aziraphale was propped up on his hands and one knee on the couch, his outside leg dropped to the floor for leverage. Crowley's fingers wrapped tightly around Aziraphale's wrists, desperately holding _on_ instead of their usual holding down _._

Aziraphale could feel Crowley falling apart below him and he felt a growing, frantic _need_ to watch the demon come. His mouth trailed from Crowley's neck to his mouth, kissing deeply. He could feel Crowley tensing and clutching around his cock erratically and hoped he was close.

Aziraphale pulled his lips away, treasuring the small noise of complaint Crowley made as he did so.

" _Oh_ , my- my love, I want to watch you _come_ ," Aziraphale stuttered, almost begging, his blue gaze focused and intent, thrusting hard onto Crowley's prostate, _needing_ to see it happen. "I want you to- to- come," he said, almost begging.

Crowley's body obeyed, his mouth opening in a surprised gasp as he unexpectedly exploded onto his stomach, his cock untouched.

" _Fuck!_ " Crowley bit out, his whole body tensing up, impossibly tightly, as if every muscle had frozen solid again. He had barely felt any of the usual build up, and the orgasm crashed over him, taking him entirely by surprise. His frozen nerves lit up almost painfully.

Aziraphale groaned as he watched Crowley thrash underneath him. Crowley's hole tensed so tightly that it felt as if he had had no preparation at all, gripping and squeezing around Aziraphale's cock like a vice.

Abruptly the angel was coming, painting stripes of heat inside Crowley's body, pushing deep inside, pressing his body down into the couch, a wail bursting from his throat.

Aziraphale thrust his way through his orgasm, hips twitching frantically. His wrists gave out and he dropped to his elbows, his gaze never leaving Crowley's face.

They both took shaky breaths, trembling in aftershocks.

Aziraphale started to pull out but was stopped by Crowley's heels digging into his back, holding him inside.

"Not yet," Crowley said, his voice high and breathless. "I want more."

Aziraphale huffed a breath of renewed arousal as Crowley's hips canted forward, fucking himself up onto the angel's cock, come dripping out of him as he thrusted upwards.

"Please, angel," Crowley whimpered, "Want more." His legs were trembling as he hooked his ankles together, preventing Aziraphale from withdrawing.

Aziraphale thrusted forward unevenly, still sensitive from his orgasm, but entirely unable to deny Crowley's demands, especially when his body was thrusting against him, ready and eager for more. He was incredibly grateful that their bodies were not truly human, and could be controlled with enough practice. He leaned forward to nibble on Crowley's ear.

"So greedy," he murmured, his pace slowly increasing again. He bit Crowley's earlobe the way he liked before moving back to kiss him again.

" _Yesss_ ," Crowley gasped in agreement against his lips, his nails digging into Aziraphale's hips, encouraging him forward. " _More,"_ he added, and Aziraphale heard the heavy hint of a _now_ at the end of it.

The slickness of his own come against his oversensitive cock and Crowley's tongue against his own drove Aziraphale to distraction, bringing him to a second orgasm far faster than he expected, emptying himself into Crowley again.

Crowley convulsed as he felt Aziraphale come again, the _heat_ of it exactly what he needed. " _Yesss_ , fuck... more, _please,_ Zira, _one more_ ," Crowley switched between begging and demanding in turns, knowing that if one didn't work, the other would. Aziraphale's mouth wandered from his jaw to his throat to his ear and back to Crowley's mouth as he thrusted, _needing_ to give Crowley exactly what he wanted, whatever he wanted.

Aziraphale lurched above him suddenly, trembling in ecstasy, his body thrusting forward unevenly, his breath broken, trying to speak and failing.

Crowley moaned at the heat, feeling more come dripping out of him, his thighs absolutely covered. He watched Aziraphale climax again with wide, focused eyes, memorizing it. His own cock was purple on his stomach, impossibly hard, drips escaping almost constantly. He ignored it as best as he could. It wouldn't give him what he needed.

"Zira... _please, don't ssstop, angel, please_ -" Crowley begged hoarsely, his tone losing the underlying demand for a moment, his desperation surfacing. He clenched his body around Aziraphale as he dug his nails into the angel's hips, encouraging him to go faster, harder. Aziraphale whimpered as several of his nails broke skin, sending electric shocks of sensation through him, his hips jumping roughly forward in response.

" _Fuck!_ " Crowley was tensing, his own orgasm continuing to build even as his prick lay on his stomach, untouched. Aziraphale unsteadily balanced his weight on one elbow and reached to grip Crowley's cock, just as he jerked up again and exploded onto their chests.

Crowley's howl was _broken_ , his hips still twitching upward for more.

"I- I want _you_ t-to come, please, jussst one more-"

Aziraphale groaned in Effort, his focused control over his body starting to scatter. He kept thrusting, pushing through his oversensitivity, focusing as hard as he could to continue. He was fueled by savoring Crowley's moans against his mouth, his pleas, his _demands_ to watch Aziraphale come, _just one more time_ , so insistent, as if they didn't both know that _just one more_ had already been said, and was rarely enough...

"Angel... want- _need_ to watch you come, _please_." Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was straining in Effort as well. Aziraphale continued doggedly, already far beyond the longest he had kept this up in the past, Crowley's cries urging him on.

Aziraphale's body obeyed Crowley's wish, shooting into the demon again, all of his muscles trembling, pushing farther in, bending Crowley's leg against his chest so he could go deeper, pushing _hard_. His eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

Crowley cried out again, feeling the intensified heat of Aziraphale's come, less volume this time but somehow so much _warmer_ , burning, _exactly_ what he was desperately craving.

"Yes, _that_ , yes- _yesss_ -" His hips twitched up to meet Aziraphale, his ankles pulling him in, trying to get him impossibly closer.

Aziraphale's arms lost their hold and he fell onto the demon with a whimper, his body exhausted. Crowley found his mouth with his own again, kissing desperately, grounding each other as they trembled. Their muscles convulsed together, almost in rhythm, as one twitch would cause the other to react.

Eventually, Aziraphale winced as he slowly pulled out, his control over his body's oversensitivity failing. Their control over their bodies' refractions was slowly growing over time, but it still took some real Effort and concentration.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer against him, their chests sliding together, an obscene amount of come on their skin.

"Warm enough?" Aziraphale muttered into his neck, his lips curling up, still panting, resting his hand on Crowley's chest, playfully tweaking a nipple.

Crowley let out a huff of strained laughter, his voice still hoarse. "Yes, angel. I'm _very_ warm." He traced the edges of Aziraphale's fingertips, seeing signs of frostbite. "But... your skin," he started, before realizing he was wasting his time, and sighing. He snapped his fingers to clean up the excessive mess they had made of the couch and blankets.

Aziraphale gave a halfhearted shrug, his eyes focusing intensely on Crowley's face, quickly capturing the demon's full attention, watching for his reaction, "Anything for you, my love."

Crowley reeled at the intensity underneath his words, gaping. Aziraphale still danced around that word most of the time, knowing it could send Crowley down a spiral of worry and apprehension, unless they were in the middle of sex. When Aziraphale _did_ step over that invisible line, it was always a calculated risk, and Aziraphale's careful timing made it gratuitously impactful. Crowley was _always_ caught off guard, assassinated by his very words, and Aziraphale knew it.

"Zira..." He stuttered a bit, unintelligible noises escaping, his face flushing to pure red, his blood definitely no longer frozen. Aziraphale beamed at his response and curled up against him, not waiting for or really needing a response, his eyes closing but his smile continuing, bursting with contentment.

They dozed for a while, wrapped in their nest of soft warmth. One by one, about half of the blankets were kicked to the floor, until both their temperatures were back to comfortable ranges. They slowly drifted into sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

The snow continued to fall, winds rising, whistling through the roof.

The radio droned on quietly, unheard, announcing that Heathrow was now definitely closing, roads were becoming increasingly dangerous, and everyone was strongly advised to find somewhere warm, and safe, where they could shelter from the storm.


	7. Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's eyes flutter back open as he aims his fork at the slice of cheesecake, sliding it down the point again, ever so slowly. He takes a larger portion this time, as if he had teased himself with the first taste. The fork travels, seemingly in slow motion, to return to the angel's parted, reddened lips, his tongue twitching just out of sight, eager for more.
> 
> Crowley swallows, _hard_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we _talk for a minute_ about 29:02 of episode one? _Fuck._

2008

Eleven Years Ago

London

St. James's Park

_"That's just the start of what you'll lose if you win... No more old bookshops."_

Aziraphale was annoyed. Crowley was tempting him, obviously, and tempting him like _this,_ as if he was going to even consider betraying Heaven for Hell, in the middle of Armageddon, was nearly... was really _rather_ insulting.

_"We've only got 11 years and it's over, we have to work together."_

Work together? What did that even entail? How were they supposed to work together when their goals were the opposite? They simply weren't having this conversation. Aziraphale turned to walk away.

_"Well, let's have lunch, hmm? I still owe you one, from..."_

Aziraphale had to think for a moment to remember the last time he had paid the bill in full. When he remembered, he smiled, almost smirking.

_"Paris. 1793. ...We had crepes."_

Suddenly the annoyance was gone, because Crowley smiled a little too knowingly and then they both became slightly flustered and tried not to show it. Aziraphale hid it in a smile about the crepes before he slid into the car, biting his lip. Crowley let off steam by exploding the parking ticket that was being written for him, causing quite the commotion.

~

Crowley stares at the fork hovering between Aziraphale's plush lips, the tiniest little sliver of cheesecake on it, the very tip of the triangular slice in front of him. Crowley's head is directed at a rather different angle, quite a bit off the to left, giving the impression that he's just staring off into space. His dark glasses effectively hide the strained focus of his eyes, which are turned hard to the right. There is a level of tension in his body that is edging just slightly out of his control. Aziraphale isn't even looking at him, though, so it's fine. The angel is fully focused on the cheesecake. He won't see the uncontrolled twitch in Crowley's jaw. It's fine.

The fork dips between wet lips, depositing the tiniest bite of creamy cheesecake onto the tip of his pink tongue, which reaches out to meet it. Aziraphale's eyelashes flutter as he closes his mouth around the prongs, his lips tightening. The fork slides out, _ever_ so slowly, between pursed lips, leaving just the slightest hint of imprints in his flesh. Aziraphale's eyes slide fully closed. His neck tilts back, ever so slightly, as the quietest moan, almost a sigh, seems to escape him. His tongue dips out to flick an unseen crumb from the corner of his lips.

Aziraphale's eyes flutter back open as he aims his fork at the slice of cheesecake, sliding it down the point again, ever so slowly. He takes a larger portion this time, as if he had teased himself with the first taste. The fork travels, seemingly in slow motion, to return to his parted, reddened lips, his tongue twitching just out of sight, eager for more.

Crowley swallows, _hard_.

He can't look away. Crowley adjusts in his seat casually, turning just a little bit more towards Aziraphale, his eyes starting to strain from looking to the right constantly. It's not like Aziraphale has any idea he's watching, anyway. He's laser focused on the cheesecake, that much is abundantly clear.

Aziraphale makes another quiet noise at this bite, his eyes fluttering shut again. The motions repeat. As the fork slowly glides out from his puckered lips, Aziraphale's eyes slide open again, flicking up at Crowley's face, somehow making direct eye contact through his dark glasses. It's a gaze hot enough to start _fires_.

It takes every scrap of determination Crowley has to keep himself from reacting. He stays perfectly still, his head pointed away, a convincingly far enough angle, that he _could_ have missed it. He keeps his face unchanged. He forces his lungs to _behave._ His chest wants to heave, his throat wants to swallow again, but he screams at his body to be still and it does as Crowley commands.

To an outside observer, he looks uninterested. But he doesn't think Aziraphale is fooled. Aziraphale's gaze burns right through his glasses, for ten impossibly long seconds, the fork still in his mouth. It feels like the stare lasts for hours. Crowley is a little surprised his glasses haven't spontaneously shattered from the intensity. He can't look away, no matter how hard he tries. He holds as still as a statue, concentrating every scrap of energy he has into not reacting, in any way...

Then the gaze is gone, Aziraphale's entire attention is back on the slice of cheesecake, leaving Crowley rock hard and internally _shaking_ in his chair. His body remains entirely still, out of obedience to his will. Barely.

He's starting to suspect that Aziraphale _knows_ how much Crowley likes to watch him eat.

He then wonders how long Aziraphale has known, or at least has suspected. Crowley thought this was his own secret pleasure. But tonight, suddenly Aziraphale is not only eating his food at half speed, but nearly _performing_ while he does it.

Crowley had not dropped any hints that would have prompted this type of behavior. "Let's have lunch," he said, the same way that he always had. It always meant, "let's not part ways yet," and they both know it. There had been no other implication. It had been entirely casual. Except for Aziraphale's passing reference to Paris, but that's just the game, their occasional match of verbal tag. Just to reference Paris, in passing, or implying the other had forgotten, at the most unpredictable times. It's a pastime that has been escalating since the seventies.

Or, possibly, that really was the last time Aziraphale had spotted him for lunch. Entirely possible. Not the point.

Nothing had been said that could have sparked _this_.

It means that Aziraphale already knew. Which implies that he must have known for a _long_ time. How long has Aziraphale been aware Crowley's stolen glances?

Aziraphale _likes_ it, Crowley realizes, likes to be watched as he indulges himself in his hedonistic love for food. Crowley's secret voyeuristic kink has not been so secret after all, and it seems like Aziraphale has a kink of his own.

He was _preening_ under it, Crowley realized. How many times have those long licks of various foods been exaggerated, just slightly? His mind flips through his memories, stacks and stacks of instances laid out like photographs, finding a plethora of examples of when Aziraphale's behavior had seemed _just_ _slightly_ over the top, not enough to raise suspicion in the moment, but enough instances, over time...

How many times has Aziraphale stirred his tea and then absently sucked on the spoon enticingly, for just a little too long?

How many times has Aziraphale indulged in vanilla ice cream cones at the park, his tongue flicking in and out, eating a just a _little_ more messily than expected?

How many times has he let out little moans around his fork, _just_ loud enough to hear?

How many times has Aziraphale licked his lips because something was on them, and how many times has he licked his lips, just for effect? Or his fingers, for that matter?

Has he really been winding Crowley up all this time, on purpose, just for his own amusement?

What a clever _bastard_. Crowley is astonished at how devious Aziraphale has turned out to be. The angel has been playing him like a fiddle, for longer than fiddles have been invented, if his suspicions are right.

Crowley shifts again in his chair, trying to release some tension. He's already been caught watching, he realizes. He must have been caught watching a _long_ time ago. So why keep pretending like he isn't watching? At the moment, it's only out of habit.

Aziraphale doesn't seem to want to pretend like he's not aware anymore. That burning, extended eye contact through his glasses was exceptionally clear.

And why the fuck not? The world is ending in eleven years. Eleven. Not eleven hundred, not eleven thousand. _Eleven_.

Crowley suddenly realizes that _that's_ the difference. That's why Aziraphale is dropping the curtain today. It's almost over. It's all going to end, everything is going to change entirely, and soon. _Far_ sooner than either of them expected. Might as well enjoy it all while they can. Eleven fucking years? Barely a moment in Time.

 _Fuck_ it.

Crowley abruptly turns, rests his right elbow onto the table, his chin on his hand, and stares, unabashedly, directly at Aziraphale. His left hand rests on the table, his arm stretched out comfortably, casually.

His face shows no emotion or reaction, but his pose says everything. _I'm watching. You're watching me watch._

Aziraphale eyes widen at the sudden change of posture, but doesn't look up from his plate, doesn't speak, doesn't stop the movement of the fork. The demon has acknowledged that it's happening.

 _Finally, for_ fuck's _sake,_ Aziraphale can't help but think, not even a little sorry for his silent cursing. He takes a larger bite of cheesecake onto his fork and slowly, ever so slowly, slides it between his parted lips. The creamy, delectable flavor of the most expensive cheesecake in London bursts over his tongue, his eyes closing again. He has it nearly every time they come here. It's just as incredible, every time. And every time, he tries to see if Crowley is watching. Crowley is quite the expert at hiding it, but every once every few years, Aziraphale will catch the edge of a heated glance, or the demon will lick his lips slightly, nervously, or visibly swallow, like he did today at the second bite of cheesecake. It's just often enough that it's _exhilarating,_ and it keeps the angel fueled to keep trying. It has turned into a Thing.

Now, with Crowley openly participating, his gaze focused and interested, it's _far_ better. Aziraphale fervently wishes he had been more obvious sooner. He thought there would be more time, much, much more time. Before today, he hadn't want to let Crowley in on it yet, but with only eleven years left...

The moans that keep escaping around bites are still _mostly_ quiet, but to Aziraphale they are becoming embarrassingly loud and desperate, and he blames Crowley's full, obvious attention for his lapse in control. Crowley is likely the only one close enough to hear, but the angel still worries. He also worries a bit about the rest of the diners feeling the undeniable tension in the air, but he supposes now is not the time to care. His eyes open again, looking up at Crowley for just a moment, letting the soft gasp of pleasure release from his mouth, before his gaze settles back to his plate. This is the best cheesecake Aziraphale has ever had, and he lets it show, with small sounds escaping from him, his cheeks very slightly flushing, his lips red and full. The demon's focused gaze on him makes it much harder keep this ridiculously slow pace. The angel's eyes flick back up to send that burning glance at Crowley once again, ever so briefly, acknowledging his attention, encouraging it.

 _Watch me use my mouth,_ he silently suggests. _Use my mouth,_ he seems to imply.

Aziraphale's eyes start to dilate slowly.

Crowley has long suspected that this is one of Aziraphale's tells when he becomes hard, but the opportunity to prove it conclusively, one way or the other, has yet to present itself.

Crowley's remaining espresso sits, forgotten, as Aziraphale slowly eats his dessert. Crowley continues watching as he takes absurdly small slivers of cheesecake on his fork, prolonging the experience, biting his lip slightly in between each taste. The lip biting is _entirely_ unnecessary, in Crowley's opinion, and rather overdramatic, and undeniably, annoyingly effective at making his blood _boil_. Aziraphale's eyes flick up to him only once more during the entire slice, near the end. His focus remains on the cheesecake. Where they both want it. For now.

Crowley is _rock_ hard in his trousers. He's also increasingly _annoyed_ that he's been so thoroughly outmaneuvered. By an angel. It's a heady combination. He's been _so_ sure over the millennia that his little kink had never been discovered. The _nerve_ of Aziraphale, to not only know about it, but to carry on, and not even hint that he was in on it, not even once! Crowley feels a _fool_ for not realizing.

Crowley's fingers slowly curl inwards on the table, the only reaction his body has betrayed him with since he fully turned. He wants to grab Aziraphalefuriously by the hair, and force him to his knees to fuck his mouth roughly, despite of all these humans around. Crowley suspects that it's exactly what Aziraphale has been trying to provoke him into doing all along. They both know he has an oral fixation, and always has. Food, drink, quills, pens, that tobacco pipe in the sixteenth century, clove cigarettes, ice cream cones, every inch of Crowley's body- they both know he likes putting things in his mouth. But Crowley suspects that's not really what this is about, now that more cards have been laid on the table. Of course Aziraphale enjoys the attention, enjoys winding Crowley up, enjoys the food itself.

But if Crowley is right- and after each passing minute he becomes more convinced that he is- underneath all that, Aziraphale is hinting at him. If Crowley is right, Aziraphale wants Crowley to get so worked up while watching Aziraphale eat that he loses control and _takes_ his mouth. He may have wanted this for a very long time. The angel clearly doesn't want to ask for it. Perhaps he's wishing for it to just _happen_.

And Crowley _wants to,_ desperately, furiously, he wants to lose all of his careful control, wants to do _everything_ to that mouth. He somehow manages to sit entirely still, watching Aziraphale's mouth continue the little moans around the fork. He has to concentrate on his breathing for a moment, screaming at his lungs to behave, if they knew what was good for them. He _can't_ give in this easily.

Aziraphale's tongue is being obscene and Crowley's trousers are becoming incredibly uncomfortable as he watches and imagines. He wonders if Aziraphale would be opposed to heading to the coatroom at this time of day. It's still early. They haven't done anything in this one yet, surprisingly enough, given how many times they've been here. Crowley likes coatrooms. It's so easy to tempt everyone to have just one more drink before they get their coats to leave. Much easier than trying to convince people they don't need to relieve themselves. Aziraphale also protests far lesswhen Crowley pulls him into in coatrooms rather than restrooms.

But, no. If Aziraphale could play the fool for hundreds (thousands?) of years, silently getting off on Crowley getting off watching him eat, but never doing anything about it... Crowley could continue to play the fool as well. For at least a little while. They didn't have hundreds of years left, after all. But Aziraphale isn't getting him to break that easily. He can wait. At least for tiny while longer. Just a little patience. He can wait until tonight.

...Or, at least, until they got back to the shop. Or perhaps just the Bentley.

Fuck, he was impatient. Maybe the coatroom after all.

_Fuck._

Crowley silently watches him finish the cheesecake, watches the very last bite disappear into that wicked mouth.

Other than his not-quite-but-almost-a-fist on the table, clenched with barely hidden tension, he gives no signs of how... _affected_ he is. He gives every impression of waiting patiently.

Crowley watches every flick of Aziraphale's tongue without blinking. Memorizing. Imagining. _Knowing_ that he's going to shove his cock against that tongue when Aziraphale inevitably gets him to break. Fuck. He has to keep himself together, somehow. At least he has to make it to the shop. He can feel another dribble of precome leak into his trousers and he desperately wants to snap to clean it away, but then Aziraphale will _know_.

Aziraphale moans prettily and sets the fork down. A very slight flush of pink decorates his cheekbones. It could be the wine, but Crowley knows it's not.

 _"That was scrumptious."_ Aziraphale's eyes flick up to meet Crowley's face again, quickly, and then return to the table. He pats his mouth with a napkin primly, the very image of polite innocence.

_"So. What are you in the mood for now?"_

Crowley wants to sneer at the overly leading question, wants to tell Aziraphale he's in the mood to force him to his knees and fuck his mouth until he chokes, right in the middle of the dining room, forget the coatroom- but no. Restraint. He can't give in quite yet. He keeps his face still. Aziraphale wants him to break right now, but he won't. At least not yet. He will at some point, he knows, he's already at the edge. He tries not to think about how easy it would be to throw up a glamour and order Aziraphale under the table. And somehow, he knows just how easily Aziraphale would sink to his knees under the table, eager to continue demonstrating how much he likes to use his mouth.

Crowley _can't_ give in that easily. After all this time, he has to resist, has to last at least a little longer. He realizes he hasn't answered the question, and tries to think of something else he's in the mood for now.

 _"Alcohol."_ Crowley clicks his spoon against a wineglass and sucks his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. _"Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol."_

~

As they walked back to the car, Crowley got some of his control back. He successfully changed the subject back to things the angel would lose if Heaven won.

Aziraphale had really hoped that Crowley was going to haul him to the coatroom of the restaurant, and have his way with him, like he had at the first World's Fair. Only Aziraphale was rather hoping that it would end with them the other way round. He was a little disappointed when Crowley led him back to the car.

But the afternoon was young. Something had clearly changed during that slice of cheesecake, and they both knew it. He tried to shut down Crowley's chatter as they entered the shop, more work talk, as if this wasn't entirely social.

 _"We're hereditary enemies. Get thee behind me, foul fiend."_ Aziraphale smiled fondly. _"After you."_

He could use quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol himself.

~

_"Godfathers. Well, I'll be damned."_

_"It's not that bad, when you get used to it."_

Crowley smiled, and added the barest hint of a wink.

Aziraphale's face fell into a half glare, his smile falling.

"Oh, what? Don't get all serious now." Crowley's smile continued, satisfied.

Aziraphale sputtered. "I'm not-"

"It'll be fun, really. We'll have to plan it out together. Make it feasible, make it balanced." The smile didn't fade. His tone stayed light and casual. His eyes stared, unblinking, gleaming in the candlelight.

Aziraphale's face softened as Crowley's real intentions finally, finally became crystal clear, and Aziraphale was astonished that it had taken him this long to fully understand.

Together. This was, first and foremost, a plan that would keep them assigned together, until the very end. He wanted to shake Crowley's hand again, agree again, now that he really understood, but he kept himself still. It was almost sweet, really. Crowley wasn't really trying to tempt him to Hell's side, just _his_ side. " _We have to work together,"_ he had said, several times.

Aziraphale realized that when Crowley said, _"no more old bookshops,"_ he really meant, _"no more_ our _old bookshop, where we can sometimes, almost, not exactly live together, which of course I'll never admit that's happening, but since you seem to enjoy having the bookshop..."_

But this was Crowley- he would never ask Aziraphale to stay with him until the end, just because he _loved_ him.

Crowley had gotten him to agree to his plan without using a single Feeling. There was a noticeable hint of relief in his golden eyes, but it was balanced by the wide smirk.

For a moment, for the first time tonight, Aziraphale felt rather outmaneuvered. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't think of a way to unmask Crowley's real intentions without failing to be prudent.

Crowley had the upper hand now, they could both feel it, and the scales are just as uneven as they had been at the Ritz.

Aziraphale was entirely, completely outmaneuvered.

Crowley could tell. He leaned forward, half smiling, half smirking at him. He waited. He was carefully poised, almost theatrical in his casualness. _Your move._

Aziraphale shifted a little in his desk chair nervously. He knew Crowley wasn't going to lose control without something to really push him over the edge.

Aziraphale still had one card to play, though, one thing he's almost sure will cause Crowley to crack. Aziraphale's cheeks flushed very slightly in anticipation, his own control slipping. It's fine. Let Crowley assume he's breaking down. Aziraphale knew he was going to get what he wanted. He has been building on this, waiting for this for a very long time.

He played his card.

"Godfathers. It'll keep us together until the end. It's a brilliant plan, my dear. Godfathers. Rather _sweet_ of you, really." Aziraphale dropped the word and made eye contact, smiling softly. Waiting. It only took half of a second to work.

Crowley's jaw clenched as he stepped forward suddenly, his hands crushing Aziraphale's shoulders, pushing him against the back of the chair roughly, leaning down, scowling in his face.

"I'm _not_ _sssweet_ ," he hissed, his eyes quickly darkening, almost orange. "I've never been _sssweet_. What the _fuck?_ "

"On the contrary," Aziraphale started, his eyes traveling to the white angel wing mug, a convenient example that sat in front of him on the coffee table, but Crowley's fingers are instantly against his lips, stopping him. _Yes_.

"Shut up," Crowley spat, his eyes tight.

Aziraphale was _thrilled._ He felt brave. Very, very brave. He pulled his lips open against Crowley's fingers, as if to speak, and Crowley's fingers _almost_ pushed into his mouth in response.

Aziraphale reached out with his tongue and ever so slightly slid against the demon's fingertips, pretending to begin to form words with it, though he has no idea which ones.

Crowley _snapped_. He pushed two of his fingers into Aziraphale's mouth, pressing against his tongue, unable to stop himself. "Shut _up_ ," he hissed again.

Aziraphale wrapped his lips around Crowley's fingers and _sucked_ , his eyes smirking up at him. _Yes_. He held eye contact as his slid his tongue along the pads of Crowley's fingertips, his heated stare silently saying _make me._

Crowley instantly knew he had lost, knew he was going to give the angel exactly what he has has wanted for the past who-even-knows-how-many centuries. He was incredibly annoyed that he has been entirely, completely, utterly outmaneuvered, almost _coerced_ , into losing control. The perfect way to release that annoyance _just so happened_ to be precisely what Aziraphale wanted. Crowley was going to fuck his mouth.

"What did you sssay earlier? You _can't, not_ do what you're told?" Crowley hissed. His other hand reached up to tangle into the blond hair, tugging his head roughly to one side, just to show that he can.

Aziraphale stared up at him, his mouth still pursed around his fingers, his tongue flicking, an almost defiant look in his eyes. _Make me_.

Crowley had enough. He removed his fingers with an obscene popping noise and unbuckled his belt.

"Want your mouth on me like that fucking cheesecake you _sssucked off_ right in front of me. Your tongue is absssolutely fucking _sssinful_ and you're going to put it to proper work. Do _as you're told_."

Aziraphale gasped sharply in response, the words going straight to his cock. His eyes fluttered shut as arousal shot up his spine.

" _Look_ at me," Crowley growled, and Aziraphale did what he was told. Amber eyes bore into blue as Crowley's cock pushed against his lips, one hand held on the back of his neck, the other curled around his chin, holding his mouth open as he forced his way inside.

 _Finally._ Aziraphale couldn't help humming in pleasure as his mouth is filled. Crowley pushed in and out roughly, pulling at his jaw. Aziraphale moaned around him loudly, all pretense gone, his hands gripping the chair underneath him. _Yes,_ it was even better than Aziraphale had imagined, even more satisfying as he had hoped. Crowley losing control was _exhilarating_.

Crowley felt a thrill at the response, the moan confirming that he was right, this is exactly what Aziraphale wanted, and it's exactly what Crowley was going to give him.

Crowley moved quickly, roughly, his cock thrusting up against the edge of Aziraphale's throat. A tiny part of him at the back of his brain wondered if he was going too fast, too hard, but Aziraphale gazed up at him in wonderment and kept moaning around him.

Each moan spurred him on, harder, faster, thrusting roughly into Aziraphale's mouth. He got too close to coming, and he pulled back, wanting to save his energy.

Aziraphale's mouth instantly tried to move forward to retake him, but Crowley held tight to his hair, keeping him away.

"Ssstill haven't had enough, angel? _Look_ at you."

Aziraphale's mouth was red and his lips were swollen. He looked debauched. He leaned forward again, silently begging for more, his mouth still dropped open.

He looked utterly obscene.

" _Fuck_ ," Crowley said, trying to regain control of himself. He slipped two of his fingers back into the angel's mouth out of pure reflex.

Aziraphale sucked them in, looking almost grateful, his eyes sliding halfway closed.

" _Look at you,_ " Crowley gasped. "Just _begging_ to have sssomething put in your mouth. Anything will do, won't it?"

He slid his fingers back out of Aziraphale's mouth, and for a moment, Aziraphale's eyes frowned and he started to protest that no, not _anything_ -

But then Crowley leaned down and kissed him, and Aziraphale's protest was happily silenced. He couldn't get enough, pulling and nibbling on Crowley's lower lip. Crowley's tongue dipped in, and Aziraphale sucked around it, causing Crowley's fingers to twitch in his hair. Aziraphale released it with a pop. Crowley made a little _nnnrg_ noise and kissed him roughly, sliding his teeth along the angel's lips. He leaned down further to trail his teeth over his neck, burying a quick bite in Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley leaned back to meet his eyes, his face both incredibly aroused and a little astonished. Crowley's mouth dipped back down to kiss him once again before standing back up.

Aziraphale whimpered, uncomfortably hard in his trousers, as Crowley watched him. Crowley couldn't miss the quick, shallow breathing, the flush on his cheeks, the redness at the tips of his ears.

"You fucking love this, don't you?" Crowley asked, heat under his voice, tightening his fingers into the angel's hair. It was an entirely unnecessary question.

Aziraphale shivered a little and then nodded, quickly, slightly.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale's head to his cock again, sliding it between his lips.

"Show me how much you fucking love thisss."

Aziraphale obeyed. He opened his mouth, flicking his tongue on the underside, inviting him deeper in. He lifted one hand to grasp at the base of Crowley's cock, but the demon released his chin for a moment to smack it away.

"When did I sssay to use your hands?"

Aziraphale trembled, and he obediently moved back to grip at the seat of his chair, feeling his own cock dripping, his pants a _mess_.

Crowley thrust into his mouth a bit more gently for a moment, trying to regain control of himself. Aziraphale became impatient, pushing forward into Crowley's thrusts. If he let go of his control over his gag reflex, it would be screaming.

It felt _too good-_ Crowley gave in and moved both of his hands to the back of his angel's head in response, increasing his pace and force. Before today, he would _never_ have guessed that Aziraphale wanted this, like _this_.

Crowley moved forward, holding tight to Aziraphale's hair, sliding in deep so that Aziraphale's lips brushed against Crowley's body. The head of his cock slid into Aziraphale's throat, and Crowley could barely breathe at the tightness.

Aziraphale couldn't at all, but he doesn't need to. It's fine.

Crowley could tell when Aziraphale started struggling to control his body, his shoulders and jaw trembling, and he tried to pull back, but Aziraphale pushed forward, chasing him down, forcing his body to take it, the look in his watery eyes screaming for more.

Crowley had no other choice than to give him what he wanted. He was rough, nearing brutal, and Aziraphale kept pushing him for more, more, more.

Aziraphale's throat was tight and hot and Crowley could barely keep himself standing upright.

Eventually Crowley pulled out, stepping back, mostly to give Aziraphale a moment to use his word if he needed to. Aziraphale only leaned forward, trying to continue, but when Crowley swooped down to capture his mouth with his own, his chin immediately tilted up to him. Crowley could feel how swollen Aziraphale's lips had become. Crowley's fingers curled tightly into his hair, pulling his head back to meet his eyes.

Aziraphale stared up at Crowley as he pulled back from the kiss and straightened again. Aziraphale immediately leaned in for more, capturing the head of Crowley's cock with his lips, pulling hard against Crowley's fingers tangled tightly through his hair to get more of it into his mouth.

" _Fuck_ ," Crowley swore as his body tensed. Aziraphale's _greed_ for him was suddenly too much. His cock jerked, eagerly spilling inside Aziraphale's mouth onto his tongue. Pleasure shot up his spine as the orgasm crashed through him. He pushed deeper, the slide of his come on the angel's tongue overwhelming him, thrusting into Aziraphale's throat.

" _Fuck_ , Zira," he repeated, his voice broken. He looked down and noticed exactly how _very_ tight Aziraphale's trousers were.

Aziraphale didn't stop. He kept dragging his tongue up the underside, kept staring up into Crowley's eyes as he did it, egging him on, asking for more. He sucked hard, making Crowley twitch in his mouth. Crowley shuddered, almost oversensitive, concentrating, fighting back his body's need to pull out and rest.

Crowley snapped to vanish Aziraphale's trousers. He kept the rest of Aziraphale's clothes intact, wanting him to stay as buttoned up as possible.

When Crowley saw the very strained bulge and the very significant wet patch covering Aziraphale's pants, he almost came again.

" _Look at you,_ " Crowley repeated again, unable to help himself. The salacious image of Aziraphale's lips stretched impossibly wide around his cock, his own erection laying dripping, untouched in his lap, covered by the thinnest layer of fabric that had gone translucent from the wetness... it was _exquisite_.

There was only one thing that could make it more glorious.

"Touch yourssself," Crowley hissed. Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before reaching into his ruined pants and clutching at himself. This was something Aziraphale _never_ did, unless Crowley explicitly asked to watch.

Crowley let out a string of unintelligible words under his breath as his pace increased in response. The image below him was _filthy_.

"Pull them down," Crowley commanded, and Aziraphale used both hands to pull the waistband down enough so his cock sprung free, thick and hard, leaking copiously.

Aziraphale gripped at it again, his attention still fully on Crowley's heavy cock in his mouth, resting wetly on his tongue.

" _Ssstroke_ yourssself," Crowley hissed impatiently, the words just barely intelligible. His eyes were narrow and focused, flicking between Aziraphale's mouth to hand and back again.

Aziraphale whimpered around him and slowly began to stroke his cock. It was the one physical pleasure that he didn't indulge in. The thought of doing it without being asked to filled him with shame.

But the pleasure of it was undeniable, and his hips moved by themselves to thrust into his fist, moaning around Crowley's cock. It wasn't for him, he told himself, it was for Crowley.

Crowley let out a hiss above him at the sight and it fueled him like nothing else had.

Crowley became vicious, pushing roughly down the angel's throat. Aziraphale's eyes were leaking tears, but they were smiling, and his burning gaze up to Crowley's face didn't waver.

Crowley was getting close again, and used the last scraps of his scattered self control to slow down.

"Angel," he purred, trying to sound more steady than he felt, "I'm going to come inssside you soon, and I want you to choose where."

He slowly let his prick slip free of Aziraphale's mouth to let him answer.

Aziraphale gasped for breath, his body instinctively missing the oxygen he didn't need.

"Get thee behind me, foul fiend," he whispered, his voice more hoarse than Crowley had ever heard it. The way he pronounced it sounded like a plea, but there was jittery laughter behind the phrase.

Crowley let out a delighted, breathless chuckle. He slid his cock back into his's mouth, thrusting for a moment more, savoring the feeling of Aziraphale's raw lips against his skin.

Crowley stepped back and lifted Aziraphale up from the chair, pulling him to his feet. Crowley kicked Aziraphale's tangled pants from around his feet away.

Crowley spun Aziraphale to the side, facing his desk, and spread his hand on the middle of Aziraphale's back, letting his fingers dig into the material of his coat.

Aziraphale moved without being pushed or told. He pushed some of the papers to the side, and bent down, dropping to his elbows, spreading his legs. He arched his back, presenting himself, throwing a burning look over his shoulder, because fuck, why not? The world was ending.

Crowley's veins burned at the display, and he started swearing again under his breath as he shed his own clothes, leaving them in a pile.

Aziraphale's ears strained to hear what he was muttering. It sounded like Estruscan, but he couldn't be sure. Aziraphale was far better at recognizing languages when they were written. He wondered what Crowley was saying.

Then, suddenly, he could no longer wonder about _anything_ , because the head of Crowley's cock was abruptly pushing into his body, and the way was miraculously slick and open.

Aziraphale made a high pitched keening sound, taken entirely by surprise, his fingertips scrambling to find something to hold onto, but only finding smooth wood. His balance against the desk was poor, with nothing to grip, and his legs started to shake.

The sense of being completely taken off balance, out of control, being _taken_ , being prepared with a _miracle_ , because Crowley is _too_ _impatient_ \- it's perfect, it's too much-

Suddenly Aziraphale was coming, his whole body tensing, coiling in on himself, his voice making some sort of noise he can't identify, and his vision goes white for just a moment.

Crowley pulled him up by his hips, holding him tight, still from his thrashing. He watched Aziraphale's body tremble and clench in orgasm, thrusting hard through his spasms, before following his example and emptying himself inside his angel, pushing as deep as he could go.

He leaned down, pressing open mouthed kisses against Aziraphale's neck, missing the taste of it, desperate to get his teeth back where they belonged. He digs into the back of the angel's neck, biting hard, leaving a mark, knowing it was what Aziraphale craved the most in that moment.

Crowley's thrusts slowed but he continued. Aziraphale pushed back against him, little whimpers escaping him, wanting more.

"Please," Aziraphale choked out, his voice almost entirely gone.

Crowley groaned, his thrusts continuing, his body screaming, ignoring it.

"Sssay it again," Crowley hissed.

"Please, Crowley, _please_ don't stop- _oh-_ " Aziraphale's voice failed as the thrusts became rough again. His knees almost gave out. Crowley's teeth returned to hook into the bite on his neck and one of his arms curled around Aziraphale's soft stomach, holding him upright. His other hand pushed against the edge of the desk to give him the leverage to thrust harder.

Aziraphale went limp, grateful that his body was fully supported by Crowley's wiry strength, as it was the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor.

A constant stream of hissed curses escaped Crowley's lips as he thrusted, his body seeming to revert to a primal state, his teeth and arm both tightening.

It was too much, for both of them, and their bodies started crawling towards orgasms they aren't sure they could have.

Aziraphale's voice was entirely gone, his breath coming out in hoarse, strained pants in time with Crowley's thrusts. He kept mouthing the word _please_ over and over even though he knew Crowley couldn't see his face, hoping that the whispered consonants on his breath were enough that Crowley would hear him. _please, I love you, please,_ he added into his mantra, and he knew by the burning heat Crowley emptied into him a moment later that he must have heard. Crowley shouted as he came, words Aziraphale doesn't understand. Then his teeth returned to the skin of Aziraphale's neck, digging in even harder.

Crowley tasted copper.

The head of Crowley's cock pulsed directly onto Aziraphale's prostate, and the angel's body curled up in orgasm, his cock shuddering in pleasure, letting out just the barest amount of come, every scrap of energy left in his body spilling onto the floor below him.

Aziraphale had already been limp, but now he felt suddenly heavier. His eyes rolled up for a moment before Crowley's tightening arm around him brought him back. They wavered unsteadily for a moment, Crowley's teeth unmoving in his flesh. Crowley's muscles shook violently as he pulled out, hissing at the burn. He licked the trickle of blood from Aziraphale's neck, a little startled at how deep his bite had gone. He briefly considers asking if Aziraphale wants him to heal it, but he already knows the answer.

He pulled Aziraphale up with him, holding him firmly, stepping slowly to the settee before laying the angel onto his back and crawling to his side. He curled on top of Aziraphale, pulling down the blanket neatly folded on the back of the settee and spreading it over them.

Aziraphale let out a sigh of utter contentment and his eyes slid shut.

Crowley almost expected him to fall asleep, but a minute later Aziraphale's eyes slid open and met his staring yellow gaze. The smile that grew on Aziraphale's face spoke of utter contentment.

Crowley grinned at the response, his lips twitching up in both embarrassment and self satisfaction.

Aziraphale blushed heavily.

Crowley cleared his throat a little. "So." He made a long unintelligible noise that turned into, "might as well ask," before extending, a little awkwardly, into another noise.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

"How long have you known?"

"That you've been watching?" Aziraphale's voice was still rather hoarse.

Crowley made an awkward noise in his throat that could have been intended as an affirmative.

Aziraphale flushed. "Sort of hard to say. Noticing and really _knowing_ are... different."

"When?"

"When, what?"

"When, ah... each of those, hmm?"

Aziraphale smiled a little. "Rome, 41," he said.

"I did _not-"_

 _"_ That's just when I noticed that you... you watch. I didn't think anything of it at first."

"Until?"

"It kept happening. Then I when I caught some of your glances at the cafe in Paris, before we... er... That's when it started clicking together, I saw the pattern, but I still didn't really understand what... what it was. After we... I just kept noticing it, and I noticed how much you tried to hide it. I started to suspect you were... _enjoying_ yourself as much as I was, but it was _so_ hard to tell. I was finally sure after that one time in Siena, remember? That lovely tiramisu, at Giuseppe's?"

Crowley's face flushed red instantly, all control over his blood vessels completely gone. Crowley hadn't remembered the restaurant, but he vividly remembered that fucking tiramisu. They both got a slice, pronounced it the best they had ever had. Aziraphale had finished his own slice, slowly, decadently, moaning loudly around his fork, absolutely indecently. When he was done with his piece he stared at the remaining half of Crowley's piece, which had sat, almost forgotten. Crowley had slid the plate over with a jaunty, "go ahead, angel," and a slightly tense chuckle. Aziraphale had leaned forward, ever so eagerly, and Crowley had desperately tried to hide his erection. Aziraphale took his time, treating each bite as if it was the first.

It had been a performance that had left Crowley diamond hard and dripping in his seat, trying not to squirm. He had excused himself to the restroom to wank furiously, needing less than a minute to come. He remembered sliding casually back into his seat. He had been _so_ sure that Aziraphale had been entirely clueless.

Crowley gaped, speechless.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back to normal.

Aziraphale smiled at the expression on Crowley's face. "You're not _that_ sneaky, Crowley."

Crowley huffed, looking _offended_. "Excuse me, you put that sentence back in your mouth," he started, before Aziraphale interrupted him.

"Finally got something else put in my mouth, rather satisfied for now." He retorted, giving a short burst of hoarse laughter.

Crowley stared at him like he'd never seen him before, and licked his lips, the corners of his mouth twitching up. "Finally?" He raised his eyebrows. "For now?"

Aziraphale flushed deep red, fully realizing what he had just said, his eyes going wide.

"I see," Crowley said as his lips curved up. "If I had known how much you wanted something shoved in your mouth at all times..."

Aziraphale failed to resist the urge to cover his face with his hands in embarrassment, a groan escaping him.

"Oh, come now, angel, I'm only teasing. There's no time for shame," Crowley said, his voice softer, pulling his hands away from his face and holding them gently.

Aziraphale sighed, his head shaking, feeling a cold burst of reality overshadow their bliss.

"There's no time for anything," Aziraphale whispered. "We only have eleven years."

Crowley doesn't have anything to say. He blinked.

Aziraphale doesn't want to panic, but the situation is starting to settle in, and it's the kind of situation that fosters rather legitimate panic. "Eleven years is nothing. We don't know what will happen. For all we know, one or both of us will be killed before it's over." Aziraphale tried taking a deep breath. He felt his eyes burning. "So we must prepare for that."

"We'll live every day like it's the last, angel."

Aziraphale looked up to meet Crowley's eyes, the yellow soft and pale in the candlelight. Crowley's voice was tender. Almost loving, Aziraphale thought, his breath hitching. Crowley was trying to _console_ him.

They spent the night curled up on the settee together, planning, coming up with options for characters that they could introduce into the child's life that could influence him, trying to figure out how to get hired into the family at the same time. It was going to take years for them to figure this all out, to make sure it was perfectly balanced together.

Together. It was all to keep them together.

Butterflies fluttered in Aziraphale's stomach as they planned. For the first time in all of time, Crowley was making a commitment to stay with him, for longer than a single night. It was staggering.

Still, he couldn't stop the fear eating away at him. He knew that at the end of the eleven years it was entirely possible they would be killed in the battle, or... Aziraphale's greatest fear was being forced to return to Heaven, to watch Crowley's broken expression as he was lifted away, forced to spend Eternity within the white halls of Heaven, as Crowley returned to spend Eternity in the dank sewers of Hell. His greatest fear also happened to be the most likely outcome, other than their deaths.

_We only have eleven years left, we have to work together._

Crowley's words echoed around Aziraphale's mind, layers of emotions overwhelming the angel.

His eyes closed for a moment, concentrating, imprinting today into his memory, knowing if his nightmare came true, he would need all the memories he had to keep his sanity.

He opened his eyes, meeting Crowley's unblinking gaze.

"Our last eleven years," Aziraphale whispered, leaning into Crowley's palm cupped to his face, feeling soft tears sliding down his cheek to meet it, "together."

Crowley held him close and whispered into his ear. "Until the end of the world, Zira."

 _Until they rip me away from you,_ the demon wanted to add, _until they take you where I can't follow, until they smite me down for trying anyway._

He can't say the promise out loud, it makes everything too _real_ , too painful.

It's too bloody _likely_.

"Eleven years together," Aziraphale whispered again.

Neither of them intend to waste a moment of it.


	8. Savor This, Definitely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley looked fully back at him, narrowing his eyes, leaning a little into his touch. "Don't think I've not seen the way you look at me in this dress, angel," he scoffed.

2013

Six Years Until the End of the World

England

The American Ambassador's Official London Residence

Crowley stormed across the grounds, his lips a hard line, his long skirts flaring behind him in the wind. He yanked open the door of the gardener's cottage without knocking, striding inside and starting to yell.

"That child-"

The cottage was empty. Crowley scowled. He turned with a _whoosh_ of petticoats to storm back out. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Aziraphale was stomping up the long path, his oversized teeth leading the way.

Crowley continued scowling as he waited for Aziraphale to join him. He found himself tapping his foot in impatience and consciously had to stop. It wasn't Aziraphale he was annoyed with, after all.

Aziraphale's ridiculous eyebrows raised in concern at Crowley's mood. Aziraphale set down his gardening tools next to a shed and entered the cottage with Crowley, locking the door behind them.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask what was the matter but Crowley had already started in on his rant.

"That child is a _brat!"_

Aziraphale nodded knowingly in agreement and instinctively started to make tea, letting Crowley rant.

Crowley paced back and forth. "So many toys, and yet none of them are enough. These grounds, the house… any other child would be _thrilled_ to live here. I swear, if I hear that little brat complain of being _bored_ one more fucking time, I'm going to wring his bloody neck, I don't care who his father is."

Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley's shoulder as he passed, halting his pacing. He ran his hands along Crowley's shoulders, pushing them downwards, trying to get them to relax from their raised pose. "My dear, you've been working so hard. Do be still for a moment."

Crowley sighed in relief as Aziraphale's thumbs dug into his shoulders and eased away some of the tension. He looked down at Aziraphale and grimaced.

Crowley had tried to convince Aziraphale that he didn't need such an absurd costume, but Aziraphale had insisted it would be 'not as fun' enough times that Crowley had rolled his eyes and finally dropped it.

"Take out those fucking teeth, you look absurd."

"Your lipstick is absurd," Aziraphale retorted with a half smile, but he pulled out the set of fake teeth and set them on the counter. The extra hair on his face was becoming itchy. He pulled it off, wincing as the spirit gum ripped at his skin. He was _done_ with spirit gum.

"My lipstick is _stylish_ , thank you very much." Crowley said, sighing in relief as Aziraphale's hands returned to massage his shoulders.

"It's _obscene_."

Crowley scoffed, pulling off his glasses and tossing them aside. "You _like_ obscene."

Aziraphale bit his lip a little, not quite holding back a nervous giggle. He glanced away from Crowley's yellow gaze.

"…I _really_ think I might," he whispered conspiratorially.

Crowley laughed, his real, honest laugh, and Aziraphale beamed up at him, face flushing in equal parts amusement and embarrassment.

"Do come sit, my dear," Aziraphale said, firmly steering him in the direction of the settee. "I'll be along with tea."

"Does the tea have whiskey in?"

"Naturally."

Crowley sighed in appreciation and sat down delicately on the edge of the settee. His corseted dress kept his pose firmly upright.

Aziraphale returned with tea, heavily spiked, and sat next to him on the settee.

"Forgive me, my dear, but isn't it your _goal_ to make him an entitled brat? Isn't that the demonic wile that I'm here to thwart?"

Crowley scowled, "I don't want him to be a brat to _me,_ " he said, sipping from his cup.

Aziraphale sighed. "It's only been a week, dear, I'm sure you'll soon terrify him into submission."

Crowley abruptly turned his head to look directly at him, that particular knowing smirk of his making an appearance. His lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. "Izzat what what happened to you, then?"

Aziraphale choked a little on his tea as he laughed. "So then you've forgotten Paris? You don't terrify me in the slightest."

Crowley found himself flushing and quickly tried to remind the blood vessels in his face to behave. His lips twitched again and he couldn't think of a response other than one of his extended noises.

Aziraphale chuckled and settled back onto the settee, slouching into it, sighing happily. He slid his hand up Crowley's corseted back. "You're so _lovely_ in this dress. It reminds me of that time in Florence, at that Lord's Ball, do you remember?"

Crowley continued his unintelligible noise but the tone of it changed rather abruptly.

Aziraphale bit his lip, realizing how heated his own tone had become.

"Has it become uncomfortable? I know you're not used it it yet. Would you- would you like me to unlace you?"

Crowley's mouth dropped open slightly and Aziraphale saw him flush.

"Or, of course, you could leave it on." Aziraphale offered quickly, hearing the heat in his voice intensify, watching as Crowley flushed harder.

Crowley looked fully back at him, narrowing his eyes, leaning a little into his touch. "Don't think I've not seen the way you look at me in this dress, angel," he scoffed, trying to regain a little control.

Aziraphale almost bit his lip off. His hands kept stroking the fabric, feeling the demon relax against his touch. "How can I help but look? So you'll... you'll leave it on, then?"

"You sound as if you want sssomething to happen with it still on," Crowley purred, enjoying the answering flush on Aziraphale's face.

"I just want to make sure you're comfortable," Aziraphale protested, not fooling anyone.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and set his teacup down primly, murmuring, "Of course, dear."

"Your Nanny voice gives me the chills," Aziraphale stated, "I'm not sure why the child isn't absolutely terrified of you already."

Aziraphale hadn't stopped his light stroking over the waist and back of Crowley's dress. Crowley couldn't help but start to respond to the gentle touches, his breath becoming shallow. The touches were full of quiet promise.

Aziraphale was fully slouched into the back of the settee, practically sitting behind Crowley where he balanced on the edge. Crowley could _feel_ the angel's eyes on his back.

"It's harder to terrify a brat," Crowley stated in his normal voice, glancing over his shoulder at Aziraphale, "you're living proof."

Aziraphale chuckled, unfazed by Crowley's attempts to get under his skin. His fingertips circled around to the front of the dress, stroking softly along Crowley's waistline.

Aziraphale sat up a little, curling around Crowley from behind, his lips on the back of his neck. He slowly placed delicate kisses on his skin. Crowley let out soft little noises in response. Aziraphale took his time, savoring the taste of his skin, feeling tension drain from his body.

Eventually Aziraphale stood up and offered his hand. Crowley took it delicately and stood with him as Aziraphale guided them to his room. He stood behind Crowley, letting his hands wander over his back, his chest, his hips. Crowley stood still, a little taken off guard, letting Aziraphale touch him as he liked. He heard Aziraphale lick his lips.

One of Aziraphale's hands spread across his back and pushed him down slightly.

"Can you... would you bend over for me, my dear?"

Crowley's breath caught as he realized what Aziraphale wanted. He bent at the hips, resting his hands on the bed in front of him. His waist and back were kept straight and upright in the corset. He felt suddenly, terribly vulnerable.

Aziraphale made a groaning sort of noise as Crowley complied. He dropped down to the floor, gathering the hems of the skirts and petticoats of the dress, pulling them up, getting lost in fabric. He finally managed to get each layer up to reveal Crowley's long legs. He stifled a gasp as he realized Crowley was wearing sheer black stockings and garters.

Aziraphale's finger traced the back seams of his stockings, not surprised at how much he liked them. He wondered if Crowley had worn these for the angel or himself. Aziraphale had once admitted to Crowley that the sight of the demon in tights at the Globe had been incredibly... distracting. He had been rather flustered and trying not to show it. He had tried to cover it by insistently denying that he knew Crowley, as if _anyone_ was fooled. He had found himself complimenting the actor on stage, watching Crowley's mouth tighten slightly. Aziraphale had been in deep, insistent, pathetic denial that he was desperately hoping that Crowley was jealous.

It was always mortifying to hear Crowley casually say, "the Arrangement," and in _public,_ even! No matter how many times he heard it, he sputtered in protest. Even though the two weren't related, the words _always_ made Aziraphale think of Rome.

Aziraphale's fingers traced the garters clipped to Crowley's stockings, wishing he could tell his past self that one day he would be here, touching Crowley as much as he wanted.

Crowley's breath sped up and he wiggled his arse, becoming impatient for Aziraphale's mouth on him. Aziraphale seemed to understand. He pressed his mouth against the curve between his arse and thigh, loving Crowley's jump of surprise at the contact.

Aziraphale couldn't resist pulling one of the garter straps and letting it snap back on the back of Crowley's thigh.

Crowley squealed, an entirely undignified noise, and whined, "Angel, are you planning on teasing me all night?"

Aziraphale hummed as he pretended to consider it. He could see Crowley's hips moving slightly and the demon took a deep, shuddering breath.

Aziraphale kept having to push the skirts up out of his way. He fisted as much fabric as he could hold at the small of Crowley's back and slowly pulled Crowley's tight black boxers down to his thighs with the other hand, inching them down one side at a time. Crowley made a whimpering noise that was muffled in the bedclothes and dropped down to his elbows. Aziraphale's mouth soon followed, kissing and licking, savoring the noises that the demon was making.

He pulled back, frustrated that he couldn't get deeper. "Can you lay down for me, dear?"

Crowley whimpered again, louder this time, and gathered the front of his skirts. It took some rearranging, a few unsteady movements and one near fall, but he was eventually able to lay flat on his stomach on the bed in a puddle of fabric and arousal.

Aziraphale stepped back for a moment as Crowley settled in, taking in the gorgeous image of the demon laid out in front of him, his hips twitching against the bed.

Aziraphale pulled up his skirts again, one layer at a time, savoring the anticipation. He rolled the layers of skirts over Crowley's back. Once Crowley was fully exposed he sat back again, memorizing the image in front of him. His hands crept forward, pulling Crowley's arse open to make room for his tongue.

Crowley buried his face in the pillow, muffling the noises he was making as Aziraphale kissed his hole like he kissed his mouth, teasing lips and swipes of tongue.

Aziraphale added a finger, pushing deep to immediately rub against his prostate as he licked around Crowley's rim. He stroked over and over, watching Crowley's hips thrust into the bed and back against his finger.

"I want you to come like this," Aziraphale murmured, to Crowley's ears impossibly calmly, and added another finger, massaging his prostate, not letting up.

Crowley cried out, the pressure on his gland almost enough. He tried to arch his back into Aziraphale's fingers but the corset held his spine straight. He dug his knees into the bed, trying to get leverage.

"So beautiful," Aziraphale whispered, almost to himself.

Crowley heard the words as Aziraphale added a third finger and pressed harder against his prostate, tipping him over the edge, and a moment later his untouched cock pulsed into the bed.

Aziraphale hummed in satisfaction and pulled his fingers out of Crowley.

"Unlace me, angel," Crowley said, aiming for commanding and falling short.

Aziraphale eagerly adjusted the skirts so he could reach the ties of the dress, quickly pulling them loose. He bunched the dress up and helped pull it over the demon's head.

The corset underneath was knotted tight, and it took a minute of untangling to start to loosen it. Once the knot was undone he slid his fingers underneath each cross of cords, tugging them loose. Something about loosening the ties was incredibly intimate.

He helped Crowley sit up a bit and reached around to open the busks in front with a little difficulty. Crowley sighed in relief as it finally fell away and his back relaxed, regaining its sinuous nature.

Crowley twisted to Aziraphale and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Aziraphale parted his lips, letting Crowley's tongue explore his mouth.

"Want to fuck you," Crowley moaned, pushing at his clothes impatiently.

"Yes, please," Aziraphale responded breathlessly, moving to lay on his back, pulling his pants down and tossing them aside.

"Turn over," Crowley said, "going to eat you first."

Aziraphale shivered at Crowley's heated tone and obediently turned over, spreading his legs, feeling the heat of desire in Crowley's hands.

"I have a surprise for you," Crowley said, and Aziraphale could hear the smirk in his voice.

"A surprise? What is it?"

"Naaahh, not going to tell you. Let's see if you notice, hmm?"

Aziraphale's brows furrowed in confusion. What could Crowley possibly-

He abruptly stopped caring as Crowley's hands pulled his cheeks apart and he started licking, the tips of his slightly forked tongue against the angel's hole, the sensation still utterly overwhelming no matter how many times he experienced it.

Crowley's tongue slid inside him, gently stretching him, going deeper and deeper. Aziraphale writhed against the bed, his cock dripping. His hips pushed back against Crowley's face, trying to get _more_.

Suddenly he felt Crowley's tongue flicking against his prostate and flailed hard enough to almost break free- but surely that was impossible? He felt stretched, more than usual, as Crowley pressed deeper and deeper into him.

For a moment he thought Crowley had added his fingers, but the familiar texture of his tongue was the only sensation inside him. He realized belatedly that both of Crowley's hands were still against his arse, pulling him open.

"What the- _oh!_ "

There was no mistaking it, Crowley's tongue was _growing,_ thicker and longer, and the slight fork at the end was becoming more and more pronounced.

The tips licked at his prostate again and Aziraphale wailed at the intensity of the sensation, "oh, _fuck!_ "

He felt more than heard Crowley's low chuckle. His tongue kept growing impossibly larger, and Aziraphale couldn't help but thrust himself onto it.

"How- what the _fuck?!"_

Crowley didn't respond, but he was _radiating_ self satisfaction at hearing the angel use so much profanity.

His tongue wiggled, thrusted, and licked, and Aziraphale was completely overwhelmed by sensation. He could feel his body inching closer to orgasm and his hips pushed back, trying to get more of that wicked tongue.

Crowley obliged, letting it grow bigger and bigger, stretching his passage, making it slick. He could feel Aziraphale clenching around his tongue and tapped his prostate was the tips, wanting him to come, wanting to feel the clenching of orgasm around his tongue.

Aziraphale was quickly getting closer and closer. Crowley ran his nails down his back, hard enough to leave red, inflamed lines, and Aziraphale was coming, his hole clamping down hard, gripping his tongue.

Aziraphale let out sharp gasping breaths as his body twitched in aftershocks. Crowley slowly pulled out his massive tongue, concentrating on returning it to its usual size and shape.

"What- _what_ -" Aziraphale couldn't make words happen.

Crowley's face broke into a wide grin, his expression ever so pleased, as he slid two fingers easily into the angel's arse.

"You liked it then?"

Aziraphale sputtered incoherently as Crowley's fingers slid inside his loosened hole, still shaking from his orgasm.

"Been practicing," Crowley commented airily.

He slid another finger into his angel, and then another. Aziraphale was loose and ready. He shifted forward, sliding the head of his cock over the loosened, sensitive pucker over and over, a deliberate tease.

"Do you want my cock, angel?"

" _Please_ ," Aziraphale whispered, lifting his hips and pushing back against him, trying to get Crowley to slide in.

Crowley stared down at him, his wide grin quickly becoming something sadistic. He nudged the angel to turn over onto his back, and Aziraphale eagerly complied, wrapping his legs around Crowley's waist.

He teased the angel for a few more minutes, pretending like he was going to thrust in before pulling away. It was a delicious tease and he savored the desperate whines that it caused. When he couldn't stand it anymore, Crowley slid all the way in in a slow, deep thrust.

Aziraphale let out a moan, half pleasure, half relief, and began to rock his hips, pulling Crowley down on top of him, capturing his lips. Crowley thrust into him, slow but deep, maintaining a regular rhythm, dipping his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth.

Something was different. Aziraphale could feel extra pressure against his walls, and he was intimately familiar with Crowley's body at this point. For a moment he thought Crowley had added a finger next to his cock, but both of his hands were tangled into Aziraphale's hair, pulling his head to the side so his teeth could bite into their favorite tendons in the angel's neck.

Aziraphale let out a gasp. "Are you- you're-"

Crowley's grin against his neck was quickly entering shit-eating territory, which was all the answer Aziraphale needed.

He was making his cock grow.

Aziraphale moaned brokenly around the massive hardness, his body stretching to accommodate the extra width and length, the sensation both incredibly familiar and entirely foreign. The size was quickly becoming close to too much, right on the edge of painful, and his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he forced his body to take it.

"Too much?" Crowley asked, his voice deep and shaky, trying to keep his concentration. He sat up, watching himself slide into and stretch Aziraphale's entrance. The angel was _tight_ around him, and he looked up to see the blue eyes were showing small signs of pain. He almost started to make it smaller again before Aziraphale finally responded.

"Almost," Aziraphale managed to gasp, pricks of tears apparent in the corners of his eyes, "but _not_."

Crowley nodded, barely rocking slowly and gently into him, letting him adjust as well as he could. His standard issue cock was well above average. The appendage attached to his body right now was nearly a monstrosity.

Aziraphale almost didn't want to let himself adjust, the stretch was too good, too overwhelming. He pried his eyes open to look at Crowley, whose yellow gaze was focused in between their bodies.

Aziraphale could only imagine the image Crowley was watching, of his hole stretched so wide, and the thought of it combined with the incredible pressure on his prostate made his back arch. Crowley saw the impending orgasm and reached for his cock, stroking quickly, concentrating desperately to keep himself from thrusting too hard.

Aziraphale exploded onto his chest, screaming shrilly, his whole body trembling in shock.

Crowley bit his lip, feeling the tightness around his prick, getting close. He waited until Aziraphale finished thrashing and then slowly started to increase his thrusting again, ever so gently.

Aziraphale let out a string of words in a language Crowley didn't recognize and grabbed at Crowley's hips, encouraging him to continue.

"What was that, angel?"

"You're- oh! You're so good to me, my love."

Crowley flushed at the praise and affection as he kept his pace gentle but steady. Part of him was a little offended; _Good_ was hardly an adjective he approved of. Another part of him reluctantly agreed that _good to me_ was a phrase he could hardly refute. He _was_ good to his angel. Absolutely _too_ good, really, to a hereditary enemy.

He made for such a terrible demon.

He started spiraling into feeling Feelings and he was powerless to stop them.

The angel writhed under him, close to over sensitive. Crowley leaned down to kiss him, slowing his pace a little, needing to savor this, definitely. Their time left together was ticking. He tried to ignore the countdown lurking in the back of his head. Six years. After six thousand, it was but a moment. It had only been a moment since they sat in the bookshop, planning their roles.

Aziraphale sighed in pleasure against his mouth, scratching his nails across Crowley's scalp, resting his heels on Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley held in a whimper, his body trembling as he moved a little faster, slowly losing his self control as he welled up with emotion. How would he survive without this? Life would not be worth living without Aziraphale. He leaned to the side to press his lips to Aziraphale's shoulder, savoring the taste of milk and honey, taking a little bite. Aziraphale let out a desperate gasp at the touch, his breathing scattered.

Crowley could feel the resistance of Aziraphale's body slowly releasing and properly increased his pace, hiding his face in the angel's skin, knowing his emotions must be written all over his face. If it was up to Crowley, he would spend the entirety of their six remaining years right here, wrapped in Aziraphale's strong thighs, pressing his cock against the angel's prostate, making him come again and again and again until the world ended.

Aziraphale was lost in sensation, the only thing he could sense left in the world was the slick weight pressing inside him. His fingertips traced the skin of Crowley's back, the well known contours of his shoulder blades, scratching where his wings would appear.

"I want..." Aziraphale breathed, before his voice was gone in another gasp and a particularly sharp thrust against his prostate.

"Anything, angel," Crowley murmured into his neck.

The broken tone underneath the words was not lost on Aziraphale.

"I want- please, I want to touch your wings," Aziraphale stuttered, hoping he wasn't asking for too much.

"Going to break everything in here," Crowley murmured into his shoulder, his face still hidden.

"Don't _care_ , I just-" Aziraphale's fingers were suddenly digging into inky black feathers instead of skin. He slid his hands to grasp the base of each wing, treasuring the sound of the startled gasp that escaped from Crowley.

Crowley's pace became more staggered, as his body was torn between thrusting into tight, wet heat and pressing his shoulders back against clever fingertips. He wasn't sure how fast, how hard Aziraphale could handle when his cock was at this size.

Aziraphale let go of one wing and gripped a bony hip, pulling him forward, encouraging Crowley to continue faster, harder. Crowley obliged, gratefully thrusting harder, groans escaping him. He bit into Aziraphale's neck and shoulder, grounding himself through his teeth. Aziraphale keened in response and dug his fingers deeper into his feathers. His thumb stroked against an extra sensitive spot under his primaries and the demon's wings thrashed open uncontrollably, knocking a picture frame from the wall, shattering it.

Aziraphale didn't flinch, circling back to the spot, digging in further. His other hand traced from Crowley's hip up to tangle in his loose hair, tugging sharply.

"Fuck, _angel_ , I'm going to-" A lamp on the side table was next to be knocked down to the floor, luckily remaining intact.

"Yes, I want- I want you to come inside me," Aziraphale whispered, and that was all it took. Crowley's hips took over as he pushed harder and harder, a growl forcing its way out of his chest as he came, collapsing against Aziraphale. His concentration vanished, and quickly his cock was shrinking back to his usual Effort.

Aziraphale gasped at the unusual sensation but didn't pull away. Crowley looked at him quickly, ready to pull out, but Aziraphale hooked an ankle around his hip to keep him inside. "Not yet, dear... feels rather nice." Aziraphale looked at him, almost apologetically, and murmured quietly, "Just for a minute. if you don't mind."

Crowley huffed in tired laughter. "Anything you want, angel."

The repeated words rang a little too true and Crowley hid his face in the angel's neck instinctively, biting his lip.

Aziraphale sighed, feeling utterly pampered, cocooned in black feathers.

Eventually he had to ask. "How did you... er?"

Crowley shrugged slightly. "Had a thought, wondered if it was possible, tried to give it a go. Takes an awful lot of Effort, it does, but... you seemed to, er... appreciate it."

"Indeed, my dear, you simply spoil me," Aziraphale flushed deeply at the thought of Crowley _having a thought._ He shifted his hips slightly and Crowley winced in oversensitivity. Aziraphale let his ankle drop and gently pushed against his hips, letting him pull out.

Crowley dropped bonelessly to the bed next to Aziraphale, exhausted.

Crowley almost fell asleep before jerking upward again. "Don't think Cook will forgive me for making her deal with him for this long. I have to put the brat to bed."

"Well, you've already done that, dear, but if you must go-"

Crowley let out a proper laugh, and Aziraphale smiled warmly at it.

He stood up, after briefly considering 'forgetting' his Nanny duties, and sighed dramatically. He already owed Cook too many favors.

"Angel?"

"Hmm?" Aziraphale was barely paying attention, his eyes drifting closed, wanting a rare thirty minute nap.

"You have to learn how to lace _up_ a corset."


	9. Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Earth as a whole was on edge, like the moments just before a thunderstorm, but there hadn't been a cloud in the sky for weeks. It really shouldn't be this humid, not with the sun burning down like this, but the air was damp and heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #powerbottomaziraphale

July 2018

England

The American Ambassador's Official London Residence

One Year Until The End of the World

Aziraphale wiped sweat from his brow with a dirty hand, grateful that he had started using miracles to create the fake hair on his face. The spirit gum would have probably failed in this heat. It still itched, though, and it was making him agitated. He daydreamed about iced tea.

It was _hot_. The hottest summer in England since the humans had started keeping records.

He finished pruning the rose bush and stood, picking up his untouched tools, wiping his brow again. He went back to his cottage and opened all of his windows, attempting to get a breeze to move through the stifling air, thick with humidity, utterly still.

This wasn't normal heat. There was something too intense about it. There was something building underneath, Aziraphale could feel it, a sense of burning energy that had been growing steadily for months. There was a small ley line that ran a mile or so East of the Dowling's estate that had been humming a little since around the start of spring, such a slow, subtle change that it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when it really began.

The Earth as a whole was on edge, like the moments just before a thunderstorm, but there hadn't been a cloud in the sky for weeks. It really shouldn't be this humid, not with the sun burning down like this, but the air was damp and heavy.

Some sort of symptom of Armageddon, perhaps. It was only a year away. Aziraphale supposed it was possible that the Earth could tell it was coming. Or perhaps, the local energies were still trying to adjust for the angel and demon who had abruptly moved to the area and performed frequent miracles. He sighed. He couldn't _think_ in this heat.

Aziraphale sat on his settee with a large glass of iced tea, hoping he could calm his irritation.

Not quite irritation, exactly. Uneasiness. Restlessness. Deficiency. A _craving_ he couldn't identify, a hunger. Definitely not for food, it was just too hot for digesting. His skin felt electric, almost as if a lightning storm was brewing in his ethereal form, one that his corporate form wasn't sure it could handle. Perhaps he should try to sleep, it had been a while. Perhaps a cold bath. He just wanted to feel like himself again.

Ever since the first signs of summer, he had been feeling a little _off_ , on edge, unbalanced. It had started subtly, just vague unease, as if he hadn't had tea in the morning, or if he had forgotten to do something important. An underlying nagging at his subconscious that had slowly, slowly turned into a craving for something he couldn't quite understand. He found himself twiddling his fingers more than usual and his legs were always restless and agitated when he sat.

Concentration was more difficult than it should have been. He had brought a modest (in his humble opinion, though Crowley had used the word _excessive_ ) cache of books to his cottage, including some of his favorites from Oscar Wilde, Candide, dear old William, of course, and a recently published "young adult" series (the name of the genre annoyed him, and it annoyed Crowley as well, though Crowley was more annoyed that he had to listen to Aziraphale be annoyed every time the angel brought home a new book from that section, which was more often than Aziraphale would like to admit) that he was currently enraptured with. But somehow, not even stories of demon hunters tracing runes into their skin as they pined for people they shouldn't be attracted to could hold his attention. He found himself staring out the window even though the text underneath his fingertips practically jumped off the page to get his attention.

At least the gardening was easy enough. Miracles for groundskeeper duties were considered a business expense, which was lucky, because Aziraphale was pants at keeping plants alive without them.

He sipped at his iced tea, wanting to crawl into the glass and throw himself against an ice cube. But somehow, he knew that even if the temperature dropped, the underlying tension would not be satiated. He wasn't craving coldness, exactly. Just... relief.

Maybe he just needed some whiskey. Or tobacco. He wondered if Crowley had any clove cigarettes.

Aziraphale doubted Crowley was handling this heat very well. Aziraphale's mind instantly recalled the last time Crowley had been feverish from heat and a stab of arousal shot through him.

 _Crowley_.

 _That's_ what he was craving. Had been craving, without realizing, for months.

Specifically, Crowley out of control. Crowley, burning hot, hot enough to start fires. Crowley pressing burning lips to his jaw, leaving a mark. Crowley scratching his skin and drawing droplets of blood. Crowley holding him down and fucking him within an inch of his life, the unbearable, exquisite heat, the burns. The nearly brutal, demonic facet of Crowley that he had met in Paris.

He shifted on the settee, trying to adjust his sudden erection, startled at how quickly his body had responded to his thoughts.

The hairs on his arms stood up and inexplicably he got goose pimples. Unnatural. Just as unnatural as this heat, as the energy in the air, as the intensity of the sun blazing down. Just as unnatural as the static energy pulsing through the ley line nearby, which was too minor to channel it.

He burned with impatience. Crowley wouldn't be done with work for hours yet. He had also gotten much better at controlling his body's temperature regulation over the years. There _was_ a chance that he was perfectly fine- hot, obviously, but not feverish. Aziraphale felt incredibly guilty for the feeling of disappointment at the possibility.

He pressed at his aching cock with the heel of his hand through his trousers, trying to release some of the tension. Part of him was incredibly tempted to try to take care of the problem himself, but the resulting shame of it would probably keep him from finishing, and working himself up would be counter productive.

He let his head lean back against the settee and a quiet whine escaped from his throat. The need was _burning_ hot, and growing more intense, quickly, now that he had figured out exactly what he was craving. Every pore on his body was sweating. A tingling rush of anticipation swept up his spine, making his back arch.

He took a deep breath and tried to regain control of his body. It was more difficult than it should have been. The heat of the air and the repressed energy of the Earth underneath it was becoming unbearable.

He sighed in frustration and finished his tea, chewing on the last ice cube. Perhaps a walk through the grounds would help calm him down. There was still no breeze in the cottage. Perhaps he just needed some air.

~

The evening sky was stunningly beautiful. Aziraphale sat on a bench deep in the hedges of the garden maze, and watched as the sun started to set behind a fountain. The rays of light reflected slight rainbows.

The grounds were quite lovely, if he did say so himself, and far more pleasant when he was the only one in them. The whole household and staff were inside, luxuriating in air conditioning, cranked as cold as it could get. This bench was one of the few spots in the grounds where full shade was available. A withered, ancient tree towered above it, an apple tree, appropriately enough, though this one had not produced fruit in many years. Inexplicably, the tree made Aziraphale feel almost young again.

Aziraphale had been asked about removal his first year on the job and had immediately refused to cut it down, rambling on and on about root systems and dormant production years as if he knew what he was talking about. There were plenty of dead branches to remove but the core of the tree was strong, he could feel it, sensing a barest sort of _self_ from the tree, as if it had become slightly aware over its lifetime. Aziraphale had felt a kinship with it from the beginning, spending a lot of his free time reading under its branches. The apple tree seemed to have become aware that there was a literal angel tending to it, bathing it in the soft kind of love he had for all living things, and its leaves started to come in more and more lush each summer. It still hadn't produced fruit, but Aziraphale didn't care, and miraculously, the family stopped caring as well. After all, it was in one of the several dead ends of the hedge maze, and many people in the household had also miraculously forgotten it even existed.

Even though the sun was setting, the temperature hadn't gone down a single degree. The shade of the tree was doing little to keep the heat away.

He wiped the sweat from his brow again, idly considering crawling under the spray of the fountain and sitting in the water.

He felt a twinge of energy and smiled. Crowley was moving.

For the past couple millennia they had developed a vague sixth sense of each other's existence, the barest tickle of a presence in the back of their mind. At least, they had it when they had been geographically close enough, and not actively avoiding each other, and they were concentrating hard enough. Aziraphale suspected it was how Crowley always seemed to appear when he got himself into trouble. During the past few centuries, especially the past few years working so closely together, their awareness of each other had grown. Now it was nearly effortless. Aziraphale wasn't sure if it was angelic power, or demonic power, or perhaps something entirely their own.

He almost stood to go meet Crowley at the entrance of the hedge maze, but it was too hot to move. Crowley would be able to find him, even without knowing his favorite spots.

A little shiver slid up his spine and the thought of Crowley hunting for him. His mind produced an image of predatory yellow eyes and the demon's determined gait through the maze, stalking through the hedges.

For a flash of a moment, the urge to _run_ nearly overwhelmed him, the thought of Crowley chasing him, capturing him, _taking_ him...

He looked down at his abruptly renewed erection and desperately wondered what the actual Hell was wrong with him.

Crowley was entering the maze now. Aziraphale could feel his presence getting closer and he started trembling. He was _so_ hard. His leg started jumping in impatience and he couldn't make it stop.

In only a few minutes, though it felt like _years_ , Crowley rounded the corner, his skirts flowing behind him, still fully dressed in a long sleeved black dress, his waist still cinched in a corset.

His face was smoking slightly.

Aziraphale gasped at the sight and a drip of precome leaked out of his cock, the image bringing back all of the vivid memories of the first day on the manor house floor in Paris.

Crowley stopped a few feet away from him, hesitating.

Aziraphale recognized the hesitation and could feel Crowley's fear of hurting him, the accompanying sense of power radiating from him, and his brittle control over it.

"Come here, my dear," Aziraphale's voice was as heated as the air surrounding them. "Let me help you out of your dress. You must be melting."

Crowley stared at him, unmoving.

"Nobody is left in the grounds, my dear fellow."

Crowley took a hesitant step forward and paused again. "I feel- I'm-" His voice was gravelly and dry.

"I know," Aziraphale murmured, and he stood to move closer, drawn magnetically towards him. Crowley shifted as if he had considered taking a hesitant step backwards.

"Let me help you," Aziraphale said again, and it came out a bit more pleading than he intended, a little too meaningful.

Crowley made a choking sort of noise in the back of his throat and Aziraphale took it as permission. He stepped behind Crowley and started unlacing the ties of the dress, moving slowly, savoring the slide of cords. When it was loose enough, He helped Crowley slide it off over his head, mussing his copper curls. Aziraphale's hands returned to slide against the corset, his fingers tracing the steel bones through the layers of brocade fabric from his waist to his hips.

"Angel..." Crowley swallowed.

Aziraphale ignored him and began to untie the knot in the middle of Crowley's back. Crowley was easily capable of unlacing himself, even without a miracle, but Aziraphale offered it as a favor at every possible opportunity and Crowley could never seem to refuse him.

Aziraphale loosened the cords, one cross at a time, and savored the quiet, breathy noises Crowley made at each tug. The intimacy of unlacing the demon was always exhilarating, and he was thrilled that Crowley hadn't gotten undressed in the slightest before coming to seek Aziraphale.

Once the cords had been loosened enough, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and pressed his fingers against the busks in the front, clicking them open one at a time with practiced ease. With the state Aziraphale was in, he was a little surprised that he hadn't lost control right there and made a mess of his trousers.

The corset fell away, tossed to the bench carelessly, leaving Crowley in a thin black slip, radiating intense heat into the already sweltering air around them. Aziraphale ran his hands along Crowley's back, savoring the feeling of Crowley's angular body wrapped in silk, damp with sweat.

"Angel," Crowley said again, his tone becoming harder.

"I know," Aziraphale said, feeling the unnatural heat though the silk, _wanting_ it, aching for it. His hands moved forward to Crowley's chest, stroking the silk, pressing his fingertips tight against it.

"You don't know, though," Crowley bit out, "it _itches_."

Aziraphale wasn't phased in the slightest, his hands still full of silk, stepping closer to Crowley's back, wrapping his arms tighter around him, feeling the heat build in between them.

"Angel, you don't understand," Crowley groaned, a perfect echo of 1793.

Crowley tried to pull forward to move away, but Aziraphale was having none of it, holding him rigidly, his lips drawn to the back of Crowley's neck.

"Crowley..."

"Angel. _Aziraphale_. I'm-" Crowley shook his head, slightly, as if trying to shake his brain into place so he could put it into words. "It really, really, itches. Everything. My skin. My scalp. My _insides_. Everything burns and _itches_." His voice was rough, hoarse, almost pained.

"I can use my wings to-"

"Remember how well that ended up helping last time?"

Aziraphale flushed. "Very well, in my humble option," he murmured near Crowley's ear, his eyes trailing along the reddened skin of his neck and shoulder.

Crowley huffed in irritation, clearly not in the mood for humor. "This isn't _like_ last time. I'm going to _really_ burn you, I'm going to become vicious, I can't control myself, this itching is driving me _mad_."

Aziraphale couldn't see Crowley's scowl, but he could hear it.

"You already know I can handle your heat. Don't you remember-"

"I'm being serious, angel. This isn't just heat, it's more, it's- it's something else. It didn't _itch_ in Paris, the Earth didn't feel like this, Armageddon wasn't around the corner-"

"You can feel it too, then?"

Crowley nodded, running his nails along his arms, hopelessly trying to ease some of the itch, knowing he was only making it worse, unable to help himself.

"I'm still not afraid of you."

" _I'm_ afraid of me right now. I'm bloody terrified. I'm going to _hurt_ you, and I'm not going to be able to control myssself. I'm not going to be able to hold anything back." Crowley's fingers scratched through his hair, still hopelessly trying to relieve the itch, his frustration mounting.

"I wouldn't ask you to hold anything back." Aziraphale's cool lips brushed against the skin on the back of his neck, slowly working away at his self control. Aziraphale could feel heat rising in his own body, the same rush that had come over him in the cottage hours ago. The increased strength of it, now that the target of his longing was here in front of him, was startling. He had the sudden, nearly overpowering impulse to drop to his knees, crawl in front of Crowley, present himself, and beg. He wanted bites on his neck, deep scratches down his skin. He wanted burnt fingerprints on his hips, the unbearable, exquisitely painful _heat_ of Crowley in one of his fevers, the viciousness, the rush of power. His breath came out in pants onto the back of Crowley's neck.

He had already survived it without getting discorporated. Even if it was stronger this time, surely, if Aziraphale concentrated, if he could control his own temperature or change the composition of his skin just enough, he could survive it again. They had gained more control over their bodies in the past three hundred years.

"Aziraphale, you don't understand, I have to get _away_ from you before I-"

Aziraphale let out a whimper of frantic horror and closed the last few inches between them, holding Crowley's back tight against his chest. The implication that Crowley would just _leave_ him like this, desperately hard and wanting, _begging_ , was unbearable. His very thick erection pressed against Crowley's thigh.

"You _can't_ ," Aziraphale interrupted shrilly, and bit at the back of his neck, tasting sweat and that flavor so similar to cloves. His voice cracked in his desperation and his fingers dug into silk, holding tight. "You can't leave me like this. _You_ don't understand. I need it _,_ _I_ _need it_."

Crowley turned in his arms, looking down at Aziraphale, his pupils blown open in arousal, merely a ring of yellow remaining, the whites of his eyes completely gone, his brows knotted tightly together. "I would very quickly destroy you right now, and I can't do that, I _won't_ -"

Crowley tried to pull free of Aziraphale's arms again, his anger growing. Aziraphale was always so _careless_ with regards to his personal safety. Crowley wouldn't be there to save him this time, if he was the one destroying him.

Aziraphale unfolded his wings and wrapped them around Crowley, locking them tight together, dimly aware that he was crossing a line here, but entirely unable to help himself, unable to feel any remorse for not listening to Crowley's warnings. He knew Crowley wanted him, he could feel the evidence of his want pressed hard against his stomach, he knew Crowley was craving this just as much as he was. Aziraphale could sense it, just as he could sense Crowley's presence in front of him. Crowley was _hungry_ for him.

And Aziraphale needed to be _devoured_. It was the same need that had made him want to run, so that maybe Crowley would chase him. The same sort of urge that made him call Crowley sweet, in hopes that he would spike Crowley's temper. The same urge that made him eat cheesecake, and tiramisu, and really everything else, so provocatively. It was a specific desire, usually repressed deep within Aziraphale, and it was clawing free of his subconscious demanding to be fulfilled; that primal need to be forced to submit, to be owned, to be controlled, to be _taken_.

Aziraphale could sense how badly Crowley wanted it, too. His arms looped up around Crowley's neck, pressing himself against the demon as hard as he could, thrusting their cocks together, gasping at the heat.

" _Aziraphale_." Crowley's voice was tight with both anger and desperation, but he hadn't tried to move away. "Don't make me break free." He swallowed audibly. "Don't do this again."

" _Please,_ " Aziraphale begged into his ear, breathing heavily, his lips cold against Crowley's burning jaw, small hives raising at the abrupt temperature change. The angel ran his teeth along his throat, nipping his skin again, before whispering, "I _need_ it... I've been craving you. You, exactly like _this_. I _ache_ for it. And I can feel how much you want me. Please, Crowley..."

The words made Crowley groan and he had to close his eyes, trying to control himself. Crowley had seen Aziraphale wanton before, had heard him beg before, had seen him at his most vulnerable moments, but this was different. Just as different as the intensity of his fever. The pure desperation in Aziraphale's voice was intense, much more fervent than he had ever heard before. His eyes were frantic and his pupils entirely blown. Crowley could _sense_ the want pulsating out of Aziraphale. Crowley's urge to give Aziraphale everything he wanted and his need to selfishly protect Aziraphale from danger tangled in his brain, scrambling his thoughts into useless, indescribable scraps of Feelings.

Crowley could feel heat and itch settling in his cheeks, and the urge to scratch the skin off of his face distracted him for a moment.

"I can... I will stop you if I need to," Aziraphale pleaded, "Please, my love, _take me,_ " he breathed, "take me _hard..._ Bite me. _Burn_ me. Ruin me." He bit Crowley's earlobe as he slid his hand between them to stroke and squeeze the demon's cock through the slip.

Crowley let out a growl of arousal at his words, his hands moving without his permission to cup Aziraphale's arse, gripping hard, digging his nails into the cloth.

Aziraphale whimpered at the touch of his hands on him and bit his earlobe again and again, whispering a chant of _pleasepleaseplease_ against his neck in between bites, clutching his fingers tightly through auburn hair, running his nails along Crowley's scalp, pulling in sharp tugs. The demon gasped and writhed at the touch, the itch temporarily soothed and then back twice as strong.

Aziraphale had long discovered every button to push and every word to say that would enflame Crowley, and he was trying several of his favorites in quick succession.

Crowley's hands wouldn't move from their grip on Aziraphale's body, wouldn't do anything they were told. His control of the fever was slipping away. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself for much longer. If at all.

Crowley's fingers decided to slide over the cleft of Aziraphale's arse, tracing over the seam of his trousers, and the broken whimper that it caused hit him hard, right in his primal brain, overwhelming his caution.

"Turn around," Crowley growled into Aziraphale's ear.

Aziraphale let out a relieved sort of sob and unlocked the circle of his wings, turning around, pressing his back against Crowley's chest, thrusting back against his hardness, already unbuttoning his trousers, his pace quick and panicked. He was _terrified_ that Crowley would stop.

Crowley's eyes went wider at Aziraphale's frantic pace. His caution was still fighting hopelessly against his heady arousal, an internal battle that could result in terrible outcomes no matter which side won.

A small voice from the corner of his brain spoke up. How could he possibly break this fever without Aziraphale's help? The help Aziraphale was both begging and demanding to give.

Crowley found himself lifting the slip over his head and tossing it to the grass.

Another little voice was insisting quietly that he really should be running as fast as he could, in the other direction, now that Aziraphale was distracted and his wings were fluttering helplessly. It was for their own good. Maybe this was the time that Crowley would save Aziraphale by leaving at the right time, instead of showing up at the right time. Perhaps he should _really_ be more careful with the one being in the whole universe that...

Crowley's nails scratched along his own chest, instinctively trying to relieve the itch. The constant urge to scratch everywhere was making it incredibly hard to think. He needed _relief_.

Aziraphale's trousers were on the grass and his shirt soon followed. His arms reached behind himself, frantically pulling Crowley closer against him by curling his fingertips into the backs of Crowley's thighs.

"Please, _Crowley_ , please..." Aziraphale's voice caressed Crowley's name in a broken gasp.

Crowley's hands dipped lower, pulling Aziraphale's cheeks apart, exposing him to the twilight air. Aziraphale instinctively bent over, spreading his legs, steadying his hands on the bench. He looked over his shoulder with impatience and arched his back provocatively, an invitation that he knew that Crowley could hardly refuse.

The part of Crowley's brain that had not yet reverted to a primal state, the quiet voice of logic and reason, was in a state of shock at Aziraphale's behavior. The angel was frenzied in his movements, his face deep red, his limbs already visibly trembling, and they hadn't even started yet. It must be the heat, the concentrated energy of the planet, the electricity crackling in the air...

Crowley's primal brain was slowly, steadily eating away at his conscious brain, the weak voices of reason growing softer and softer, and he knew he had only moments before he lost control.

"Are you _sure_ you can ssstop me if I- I-"

Crowley's primal brain laughed at the audacity of the question. As if Aziraphale would admit he couldn't handle it, and would tell him to stop now! As if the quiet little voice was even _capable_ of taking back enough control for him to stop _himself._ It simply wasn't possible, not with Aziraphale presenting himself like this, loudly begging to be fucked. He wanted to laugh at his own nerve.

"Do stop _questioning_ and _fuck me,"_ Aziraphale demanded, "I'm not as fragile as you seem to think."

Crowley growled at that, his temper flaring again, his skin becoming fully crimson red, hives appearing along his inner arms and behind his knees. The anger helped his brain refocus. "I would think you were bulletproof, the way you act. You're ssso _careless_ , angel, always brazenly putting yourself in danger." He pushed two slick fingers against Aziraphale's hole at once, pushing inside without warning up to the second knuckle. His other hand gripped at Aziraphale's hip, holding him still, his nails digging in.

Aziraphale let out a little shriek of surprise at the sudden penetration which quickly turned into a noise of approval.

"I do _not_ ," Aziraphale retorted a delayed moment later, sounding far more breathy than he would have liked. He accompanied his words with a fast thrust backwards, impaling himself further, pulling back quickly, thrusting again, fucking himself on Crowley's fingers. His brows were furrowed in annoyance as he looked over his shoulder at Crowley with narrowed eyes.

Crowley huffed at Aziraphale's audacity. "Ghana. Athens. The Bastille. The manor house in Paris. The tomb in Egypt. The Nazis. _Right now_. I could _go on_. I won't always be there to _sssave you_ , angel-"

He punctuated each example with a quick thrust of his fingers, adding a third and a fourth quickly, too quickly.

Aziraphale let out a whine at each one but his backwards thrusting didn't relent. It hurt, but it didn't hurt _enough_. He could have made himself ready, he had done so plenty of times before, but he didn't _want_ to. They both knew what it meant that he hadn't.

"Egypt- _ah!_ \- doesn't count-"

"For fuck'sss sssake, angel, you're ssso _fucking_ insssolent," the demon hissed, pulling his nails across his own chest again, raising white welts in the redness.

Crowley pulled his fingers out so quickly that Aziraphale jumped up in surprise. Protests about being called _insolent_ , of all the _cheek_ , failed on his lips as Crowley's burning hand splayed flat on his back, roughly pushing him back down. It was only a second later that the head of Crowley's cock was against his entrance, pushing in quickly, far too quickly, it _hurt_ , and it still wasn't _enough_.

"Oh, _fuck!_ "

" _More,"_ Aziraphale insisted, pushing back against him, one hand bracing him against the bench. He scratched at Crowley's thigh with the other, the only place he could reach, knowing he must be making the itch in Crowley's skin worse, almost _hoping_ it was, so he could tempt out that feral demon that was lurking just underneath, clawing its way out.

" _Bigger,"_ Aziraphale's voice was shaking with the ferocity of Crowley's thrusts, but his tone aimed for commanding.

"Like you could _handle_ it any bigger, look at you shaking already," Crowley sneered. He dug his nails into Aziraphale's hips, squeezing the ample flesh, catching nails on his skin and _pulling_ , making Aziraphale twist under him and cry out in pain and surprise. The noise of it was balm to the itch under Crowley's skin, soothing for just a moment, and Crowley drank the sound of it like he was dying of thirst.

Aziraphale's legs started trembling so hard that he was having issues staying upright.

Crowley pulled out, causing a loud wail of protest. Aziraphale felt suddenly, horribly empty, and for a moment he thought Crowley was going to stop. He almost started to panic, before-

"Down," Crowley commanded, his voice low and hoarse, pushing Aziraphale to the grass, moving him until he was on all fours. He knelt behind the angel and thrust back in, concentrating, his cock ever so slowly growing in size.

Aziraphale let out a cry of relief as Crowley entered him again, instinctively dropping from his hands down to his elbows, his wings fluttering between them, shaking as the head of Crowley's cock pressed against his prostate, drunk with sensation.

Crowley gripped his hips, adding another layer of red handprints, digging his nails into the welts already there. He leaned down to bite the back of Aziraphale's neck hard, his jaw clenching around his flesh. Aziraphale gasped at the pain, his body flailing as it tried to decide whether to pull away or lean into the bite.

Crowley clamped down harder, holding him still, thrusting brutally, unable to control his pace, his cock still slowly growing larger. Aziraphale could feel an orgasm creeping up on him, the pressure and burning heat of Crowley's length inside him almost too much to handle.

It had only been a few minutes since Crowley had pushed him to the ground and Aziraphale was coming, his body clenching erratically around Crowley. He felt an intense burn fill him and realized Crowley was coming with him. There was a loud _thwump_ as Crowley's wings extended into the air, stretching as wide as they could go, trembling in release.

Crowley didn't stop, couldn't stop thrusting. He groaned into the angel's neck, biting his nape, his shoulders, leaving a plethora of marks. One hand left Aziraphale's hips to grip his hair, pulling it, making the angel's back arch further.

The angel's skin started to sizzle where the demon's lips touched, burning hot, blisters forming. Aziraphale's human body started truly protesting against the burns, unable to handle the furious blaze of Crowley's mouth on him, the heat becoming too much, but he still hadn't gotten _enough_. The last scrap of control over his body was spent concentrating on his skin, making it thicker, stronger, and more resilient to such blazing temperatures, so they wouldn't have to slow down. He would still feel it, it would still feed his craving, but there would be less actual damage to the tissue of his fragile human corporation.

Crowley felt the tingling and flickering of power through the skin between his teeth and instantly knew what Aziraphale had done. Crowley made a grateful noise of relief at the knowledge, the _proof_ that Aziraphale truly was safe from him, even at his most brutal nature.

Oh, and that rush of arousal, that Aziraphale had made _this_ choice instead of stopping, and he hadn't once even _hinted_ that Crowley went _too fast_...

Crowley lost control of himself entirely, his nails scratching recklessly at Aziraphale's hips, his back, his thighs, everywhere he could reach. His come leaked out of Aziraphale as he thrusted, the slick easing his way as his pace increased, instinct driving his hips. He let go of Aziraphale's hair to wrap one arm around his stomach, holding him up, holding him stillthrough his thrashing.

"More, more, _please_ ," Aziraphale moaned, unable to stop the words from tumbling from his mouth, his sense of self nearly gone, his consciousness filtered down to physical and metaphysical sensation.

Crowley growled and dropped down to his hands on the earth, his body bracketing Aziraphale's, his nails digging into grass and dirt. He felt the itch within him start to rise out of his corporation, sparking to the outside of his skin as he came again, his wings flapping to increase the power of his thrusts, electricity building around them, their auras crackling with power.

A flash of light and loud crack of thunder ripped through the cloudless evening sky.

Crowley barely felt the drop of rain that landed on his back, right between his wing joints, as he continued to thrust.

Sparks of lightning flicked between clouds above them, waiting. Their hands dug through the lush grass into dirt, grounding them as they continued to rut like beasts in heat, ignoring the storm gathering above them.

A bolt of lightning struck down to catch the withered old apple tree above them, the thunder from it traveling through their bodies with force, rending the heavens in a violent outburst of sound.

Suddenly the sky emptied torrents of warm rain onto them, soaking them instantly, entirely. Aziraphale let out a surprised shout of laughter.

Crowley gasped as he realized the spell, or whatever it was, had been broken. The itch was gone, and the rain started slowly bringing down down his fever. He groaned gratefully into the back of Aziraphale's neck, his pace quickly becoming gentle, pressing kisses against the bruised, rain drenched skin.

"Nnn... want to sssee you," Crowley murmured after a moment, and he pulled out. Aziraphale turned onto his back, his legs and arms wrapping around Crowley, eagerly tilting his hips to help Crowley slide back inside. They both sighed in relief as their bodies thanked them for putting them exactly back where they belonged, skin to skin, mouths slotted together.

The torrential rain slowed almost as quickly as it had started, turning to a gentle mist, bathing their bodies with coolness as they moved slowly together, gentle, loving. Crowley kissed the bruises forming on his neck under deep teeth marks, and for the first time, he didn't feel the slightest trace of guilt.

Their bodies slowed, rocking against each other until they both reached a final climax, a shuddering, straining gasp of pleasure. They came to a stop, wrung out from countless orgasms, incapable of continuing, finally, fully satiated.

Crowley lifted from Aziraphale's neck to look down at him, memorizing the image of his flushed cheeks and hooded eyes, his hair dripping with rainwater, blades of grass tangled in his curls and stuck to his cheeks. He was stunningly beautiful.

Crowley wanted to stroke his cheek, to touch him, to make sure he was real. He realized his hands had torn holes through the grass and into the earth, and his fingers were clenched in the dirt. The ruts he had made in the ground had quickly filled with rainwater and were now turning into mud.

"It almost looks like the Garden."

Crowley looked away from reclaiming his hands to see Aziraphale staring up into the branches above them. He carefully pulled out, wincing in oversensitivity, and settled on his back on the muddy grass beside the angel, his body wrung out like a rag, utter exhaustion overcoming him. His eyes turned upward to see the branches of the ancient tree above them, silhouetted against the very last light of the sunset, the brightest stars peeking out behind clouds. The hedges rose around them, surrounding them with green. The rain had started again, the mist growing into a heavier drizzle, bathing their sweaty skin.

Aziraphale took a deep breath in, petrichor filling his senses, and Crowley did the same, his tongue instinctively dipping into the air to taste it.

"Smells like the Garden, too." Crowley murmured in agreement.

They lay together for a long time in the grass in quiet comfort, sated, letting the rain wash over them, absorbing energy from it, regaining strength.

Eventually Aziraphale turned to look at him, a hint of embarrassment starting to show. Crowley raised an eyebrow in invitation, hoping a confession was coming.

"I've always had a bit of a... a thing I used to think about, after the Garden."

Crowley turned toward him, lifting up to balance on his elbow, his chin resting in his hand, that knowing smile growing on his face.

"Or, really, a thing that I tried not to think about. That- er, we-" Aziraphale's fingers twisted together. "That we had kissed on the wall in the rain, under my wing."

Crowley waited for a moment before he realized that was the end of the fantasy, and the _innocence_ of it hit him in a deep place in his heart that he had long thought was cold and barren. He leaned forward instinctively to kiss Aziraphale, the gentlest press of lips, lingering just a moment before pulling away. The way he would have, if he had dared to try it on the wall.

A pleased little smile lit up Aziraphale's face, barely contained, as if he was trying to keep himself from bursting.

Crowley felt he needed to say _something_ , but couldn't make words come out properly. A wordless murmur tried to come forward, but it died before he could turn it into something with meaningful consonants and vowels.

Aziraphale seemed to understand it, though, and he looked away again, embarrassed.

"...Sssweet," Crowley managed to get out eventually. "Not like my version."

Crowley tried to gain back some semblance of control and swagger, something that had felt missing for weeks now.

"In my version... I pulled you under the giant ferns, pushed you down onto your wings on the ground, and kissed you until you could barely breathe..." Crowley carefully watched Aziraphale's expression, his voice lowering. "Then I pushed your robes away and sucked you until you came down my throat."

Aziraphale flushed heavily, an echo of the response a younger Aziraphale would have given at such a suggestion. A hint of the present day Aziraphale still shone through the expression, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a beginning of a smirk, and Crowley could tell he was thinking of refuting the description of "not sweet," and belatedly realized that, well, it did sound a bit sweet and almost rather... romantic.

"Oh, shut up," Crowley half scowled as he saw Aziraphale's mouth open, and Aziraphale laughed instead. Crowley even chuckled a little himself as he settled back to the ground.

They lay in the grass for a long time, letting raindrops from the leaves above them cool their skin, settling into the bliss of release. The mist faded, the clouds receded to the corners of the sky, and more and more stars started appearing.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley's profile, staring up into the sky, and the torrents of love outpouring from his body bathed them both in unseen light.

Crowley looped his little finger around Aziraphale's, where their hands tangled in grass, and the shyness of the gesture put a spike of pure, blinding hope through Aziraphale's heart.

 _I love you so desperately,_ he thought at him, but he _couldn't_ say it out loud, not now, not when Crowley had just shown softness, when he was vulnerable... Aziraphale would not push him further.

Instead he wrapped his own finger tighter around Crowley's, and repeated the words silently, letting it flow from his body and cushion around them.

Out loud, Aziraphale said, "Crowley, my dear," and he could feel tension grow in Crowley's body next to him, so he went on quickly, "Show me again. Show me all the stars you made."

Crowley turned and smiled at him, one of the rare, genuine smiles that lit up his whole face, his eyebrows raised in pleased surprise.

He reached up with his other hand to point into the sky, keeping their little fingers curled together.

"Hiding behind that big branch there is probably my best work, the system the humans named Alpha Centauri..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The young adult series that Aziraphale is reading, referred to as "demon hunters tracing runes into their skin as they pined for someone they shouldn't be attracted to" is a nod to Cassandra Clare's Mortal Instruments series, which I think Aziraphale (and Crowley as well, if he could be convinced to bother reading it) would find highly amusing and entirely too relatable. So much pining. Back in MY day *shakes cane* Cassandra Clare was still Claire, I spent many of my nights staying up way too late reading the Draco Trilogy on FFN. I've always been inspired at the way fanfic writers sometimes cross over into producing published work, and it makes me hope that, at some point, I manage to do the same. Cheers to Cassie and her ridiculously impressive lifetime word count.


	10. Preposterous

Still 2018

Still The American Ambassador's Official London Residence

Aziraphale's gaze turned suddenly to the tree in alarm.

"If your lightning bolt killed this tree-"

" _My_ lightning bolt?" Crowley gaped.

Aziraphale was already preparing to miracle the tree back to life, reaching out with his powers, when he realized there were no signs of the lightning strike to the trunk. He quickly turned his attention to each of the branches, and he realized there were new growths on the ends that certainly had not been there yesterday.

The sky had long gone dark and the crescent moon gave little illumination, even less than the recessed lighting in the fountain. Aziraphale looked to Crowley, "Are those...?"

"Apples, yes," Crowley said, half laughing, staring up at them. "They'll be ripe by fall."

"How is that possible?"

"Must have been _my_ lightning bolt, you know. Do let me tempt you into eating one."

Aziraphale smiled in spite of himself. "It's my tree, but I'll pretend to let you tempt me, if you would like, dear."

Crowley scoffed a little. "It's the Dowling's tree, technically."

"It's only alive at all because of my tireless work with it."

"Tireless miracles, you mean."

Aziraphale huffed. "It's still tireless."

Aziraphale sat up to stretch his arms upward luxuriously, all of the tension gone from his body, all the restlessness and agitation that had built up over months completely soothed away. "Perhaps it was the rain that healed the tree? That rain... I feel brand new. Like I've slept for a week."

Crowley nodded, absently running his fingers along Aziraphale's spine, feeling unusually rested as well, especially so soon after fucking each other to utter exhaustion. "I know what you mean. Better than sleeping for a week, though, I've done it. What _was_ all that then?" His voice slipped into Nanny's with easy sarcasm, "Tha' ley line needed to have a wee summer tantrum? And then spew magic rain everywhere?"

Aziraphale chuckled. "I don't think you're far off on that. Whatever it was, it was lovely."

"Feels good, yeah. I almost want to go for a run-"

Blue eyes flicked over to meet yellow and immediately looked away.

"-or a quick fly. D'you think we're far away enough from the house? Woss that look for?"

Aziraphale shrugged it away, but Crowley wasn't fooled.

" _Do_ tell," Crowley purred, instantly recognizing that particular flavor of avoided eye contact. He reached over to tilt Aziraphale's chin towards him, staring expectantly. It was a night for confessions, apparently, and Crowley was very much enjoying it.

"It's nothing at all," Aziraphale flushed slightly, his gaze locked back on the branches above them. He was such a terrible liar.

Crowley began removing blades of grass from his face, a perfect excuse to touch him, pretending not to notice he was leaving streaks of mud across Aziraphale's pink cheeks.

"It's _something_ ," he said, his lips trailing across a clean patch on Aziraphale's jaw.

"Well, I'm just... being nostalgic a little, remembering Eden and the other early days."

"What about them, then, hmm? Go on." Crowley could tell this was going to be a good one by the calculated avoidance.

Aziraphale wrung his hands in his lap, trying to find the words.

"Well, er... well, in the beginning it was always a startle, or more of a thrill, really, to... to see your eyes. You hadn't started wearing the glasses, of course, and well, you look like a _predator_ , Crowley, so then I sort of developed..., ah, obviously I, er..."

"Obviously? Woss that got to do with running- _Oh_."

Aziraphale's eyes met his again momentarily, a little startled, not expecting Crowley to understand so easily, since he was having such a hard time explaining it, even to himself.

"You want me to _chase_ you."

Aziraphale flushed deeper and a guilty, suppressed sort of smile started to show through his embarrassment.

Crowley's smirk turned into a wide, knowing, shit-eating grin.

"And I'm sure you want to _struggle_ when I catch you, don't you, angel?"

Aziraphale's face went crimson as he kept staring into the air in front of him, and Crowley was utterly charmed that Aziraphale could be _so_ embarrassed by this, especially after he had profanely demanded far harsher treatment only a few hours ago.

Crowley felt his own breath quickening at the thought of it, and an unintelligible noise sat in his throat. Adrenaline started pumping through his veins as he imagined the chase. As close as he was pressed to Aziraphale's side, it was impossible for the angel not to notice his excitement.

Aziraphale finally made eye contact with him, desire and embarrassment fighting on his face, a bit of pleading mixed in for good measure, a silent _please don't make me say it out loud_.

Crowley pulled away, giving him room, the grin widening.

"If that's what you want, angel... all you have to do is _run_."

Aziraphale stilled for a moment, and their eyes locked in silent communication. There was a long moment of building tension, and then in a flash of white feathers and a burst of delighted laughter, the angel was _gone_ , faster than Crowley could blink.

His jaw dropped. He had expected to give Aziraphale a head start. It had always been _you go too fast for me, Crowley_ , long before those words had been said aloud.

"Well, shit," Crowley whispered through a grin, almost giddy with excitement. He slowly, silently lifted into the sky, casting his gaze around into the velvet blackness. He hadn't even seen which direction Aziraphale had gone.

As he rose into the air he looked back to the ground and his jaw dropped again.

He _really_ hadn't expected that Aziraphale would leave his clothes behind, but there they were, laying in a muddy puddle next to the bench.

 _Brand new_ , Aziraphale had said, and Crowley felt the same, as if years of age had fallen away, even though age did not touch them. Whatever had affected the apple tree into suddenly producing fruit had seemingly affected their corporations as well.

Even if Aziraphale matched his speed now, he had better night vision, and the angel's white wings would surely give him away.

Crowley felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around, seeing only a flash of white above him before the angel vanished again. The cheeky bastard!

There was a soft peal of laughter above him and Crowley shot up towards it, moving _much_ faster than he had intended, tumbling around in currents of air, a _ha!_ of surprised laughter escaping him as he regained his balance. He had never been able to move this quickly before. He rose higher into the air and flew a few loops, partially to show off, reveling in his newfound speed.

Crowley dropped back down to the ground, reaching out with his senses, knowing that Aziraphale had landed, and then very suddenly he was not able to sense his location at all. Crowley felt only the barest tickle of angelic existence in the back of his mind, the same way it felt when Aziraphale was on the other side of the planet.

"That's _cheating_ ," he protested, knowing Aziraphale was close enough to hear, probably close enough to touch, probably trying to creep up to tap him on the shoulder again, just for the fun-

There was the slightest movement of leaves to his left and Crowley reached out at breakneck speed, his fingertips feeling the curve of a soft hip before Aziraphale twisted away again, disappearing into the night.

Crowley stared into the darkness before shooting into the sky again, landing in thick shrubs on the other side of the maze, immediately slithering to the ground between fallen leaves and roots, his wings and limbs folding into his serpentine body. If Aziraphale could cheat, so could he.

Aziraphale landed softly in the opposite corner of the maze after he watched Crowley slither into the brush, knowing he had probably been outmaneuvered, biting his lip at the sparks of adrenaline coursing through his body. He kept moving through the maze, his heart pounding in anticipation.

With no warning, Aziraphale was tackled to the ground, rolled into the dirt by Crowley's long limbs. Aziraphale squeaked in surprise but was able to push Crowley to the side and dash away again on foot, folding away his wings, guessing that their shine in the dark had given him away. He had never been very good at sneaking.

Aziraphale ran to the back entrance of the maze, just a small opening between hedges, and out into the darkness, moving faster than he usually could. There was a small field between the hedges and the edge of the forest. If he could just get to the cover of trees-

He heard footsteps just behind him and doubled his efforts, sprinting to the trees. Once he was within the shelter he turned to glance behind him, expecting to see Crowley close behind, trying to see how much of a lead he had.

Crowley had vanished.

Aziraphale stopped, his back to the trunk of an old oak, and listened. He had been sure that he had heard Crowley just behind him. He stared into the night, trying to catch a reflection off yellow eyes or a flash of red hair.

There was no noise except for the _drip drip drip_ of the rain drops falling from leaves to the forest floor and the _thump thump_ of his racing heartbeat. Aziraphale held his breath for a minute, listening hard, and heard nothing. A shiver of anticipation slid up his spine, a heady hint of arousal mixed with it, as he imagined Crowley stalking him through the forest.

Aziraphale bit moved away from the oak and pressed further into the trees. Crowley must be close. He was still making an effort to block Crowley from sensing him, because otherwise, what was the fun? He stepped carefully around dead branches, trying to make as little noise as possible. The hoot of an owl above him made him startle slightly and he suppressed a small giggle at his reaction.

He thought he heard a breath behind him and he paused again, straining his ears, turning in slow circles. There was still no sign of Crowley, but Aziraphale knew he must be close, possibly even watching him now. He felt the sensation of eyes on the back of his neck and quickly turned, but Crowley was nowhere to be seen. He shivered again as he felt the wetness dripping down his thighs. They had not miracled away the mess from earlier.

Ahead there was a small clearing in the trees and Aziraphale paused to consider his path. The clearing seemed to be mostly thick grass and would be far quieter than the dry, broken brush under his feet, but he would be fully exposed until he reached the other side, where the brush was thick but a small path was visible.

He leaned against the trunk of an elm tree and considered. He could sprint through the clearing and perhaps gain some distance, but he couldn't be sure that Crowley was on foot. It was possible that he was flying silently above, and entering the clearing would mean certain capture. Another flutter of arousal twinged in his stomach.

He studied the perimeter of the clearing, trying to map a route around. A dense thicket of berry bushes prevented him from going left without dealing with thorns, and considering that he had left his clothes behind, that would definitely not be an option. He had realized after taking off that he was still naked, and the thrill of it was enough to keep him from conjuring new clothes.

The right side of the clearing was free of thorns, but there was still lots of thick underbrush to deal with. If he could be fast enough, he could reach the other side and find somewhere in that brush to hide. If he wasn't fast enough, well... his cock was already twitching in excitement.

He took two strides into the clearing, starting his run, but suddenly a shadow moved between him and the stars. Aziraphale let out a squeak of surprise as the shadow dropped to the earth at breakneck speed. Abruptly his back was pressed to the tree again, a strong hand pressing his upper arm against the thick tree trunk, a hand cushioning the back of his head, black wings curling close around the trunk, trapping him.

"And what have we here?" Crowley purred into his ear. "A lone angel, lossst in the forest? How did you get ssso far from the Garden by yourself, angel?" He made zero effort to control his hissing.

Aziraphale stuttered in surprise, his breath heavy, his heart pounding fast and _loud,_ which was entirely unnecessary, and he couldn't get to seem to make his body cooperate.

"I'm not.. not _lost,_ " he squeaked. "Demon," he added belatedly, to clarify that he very much approved of the scene Crowley had set.

Crowley left one hand on Aziraphale's arm and traced the other down along his hip, stroking his bare skin.

Aziraphale shivered at the touch and pulled away, or at least made a semblance of a gesture that _could_ be interpreted as as pulling away. Crowley chuckled darkly.

"Ahh, I see. Ssso you're just wandering around the forest alone, _naked_ , in the middle of the night. But you're _not_ lost. I sssee," he hissed, sliding a little closer, but not nearly close enough for their bodies to press together, to Aziraphale's disappointment. Yellow eyes dropped to stare deliberately at Aziraphale's mouth for a long moment before raising back to blue. Crowley lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly, waiting for a response.

"My clothes... got mud on them." Aziraphale's voice trembled a little and he immediately regretted saying such a ridiculous thing. Aziraphale had always been so terrible at lying, and it was worse when he was so incredibly flustered. He tried to hold back the jolts of arousal, but he was definitely feeling blood rush to his cock in anticipation. All his usual cleverness seemed to have evaporated. He had not planned on 'giving in' so easily, but when he had imagined this (rather, denied imagining this, for hours at a time, for centuries), he had not expected it to be so... _seductive_.

"Right. It's not like you can snap them clean or anything, though, right?" Crowley sneered through a grin. "I think I know why you're naked, alone, in the forest, where any ssstray demon could happen upon you... you _want_ to be caught."

"I _don't_ -"

But his voice failed as Crowley ghosted his lips onto Aziraphale's neck and his fingertips trailed down to trace the shape of his arse, just barely touching his skin.

"You _do_ ," he countered, almost sweetly, and took a half step forward, still not fully touching.

Aziraphale whimpered unsteadily, "...P-Preposterous."

Crowley chuckled at that, feeling Aziraphale's pulse quicken under his lips. "Is that why you've made an Effort? Is that why you're _hard_ for me?"

Aziraphale stuttered, not able to think of an answer, feeling a dribble of precome escape his cock, his knees trembling.

"I can give you what you want, angel."

"What are you implying-" As if he didn't know, as if he wasn't already _gagging_ for it.

Crowley stepped forward, fully pressing against him, and their cocks finally slid together, rock hard and slippery. Crowley's mouth moved to devour the gasp escaping from Aziraphale's parted lips, and Aziraphale opened under him, for a moment forgetting to resist, kissing back desperately.

Crowley lifted one of Aziraphale's legs by the knee, pulling it upward to wrap it around his hip, and Aziraphale eagerly clung to him with his leg, pulling him forward, his heel on Crowley's lower back.

Crowley smirked as the head of his cock was neatly angled into the heat between the angel's legs.

"You're implying it _for_ me," Crowley purred into his ear, making little thrusting movements in between his thighs, watching him tremble. The head of his cock brushed slightly against Aziraphale's loosened hole, still dripping with Crowley's come, and Aziraphale kept tilting his hips, trying to get it to catch and slip inside.

"Look at you, wanton little thing," Crowley crooned in a low voice, "Such a _treat_ I've caught for myself."

Crowley's memory flashed back to the very first time he had entered Aziraphale's new bookshop, their first meeting after Paris, when Crowley had months of pent up lust. He remembered the way Aziraphale had responded to him, presenting himself so eagerly, when Crowley had struck and pinned him to the bed. He wished he would have recognized the underlying significance of it then. They had wasted _so_ much time.

Crowley pulled back, needing to stretch this game a little further, staring into those wide blue eyes, making sure he had Aziraphale's full attention.

"You know how sometimes a cat lets a mouse go, just so they can catch it again, jussst because they _can_?" Crowley dragged his tongue along his own lower lip. He watched Aziraphale's eyes follow the motion attentively and a breath of air puffed out between the angel's lips.

"You couldn't catch me again, demon," Aziraphale insisted, his breath speeding up in anticipation, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, "You just... took me by surprise."

"Oh, is that _ssso?_ "

Crowley unhooked Aziraphale's leg from around his hip, unlocked his circle of wings, and stepped back a few paces, giving Aziraphale a clear opportunity to run across the clearing.

Aziraphale made wild eye contact with Crowley, and then he was running flat out, knowing he had only moments before-

Crowley gave him until he reached the other edge of the clearing before he struck again, one arm catching Aziraphale around the waist, the other wrapped around his head, rolling them smoothly to the ground. Crowley straddled him and pressed the angel face down into soft, thick grass, his hands holding his wrists to the ground.

Crowley let out a hum against the back of his neck. "Ssso you sssee, wanton little angel, you _did_ want me to catch you," he hissed into Aziraphale's ear, letting his lips brush against the edge in the way that he knew drove Aziraphale mad, "You could have snapped your fingers and gone right back to safety of the Garden, you could have spread your pretty white wings and flown up to Heaven, but you _ran_ , knowing I'm faster."

"I... I..."

Aziraphale's hips rose to press his arse back against the demon, his back arching, looking back at Crowley with wide, pleading eyes, and it was one of the most erotic visions that Crowley had ever seen.

"Look at you," Crowley murmured in awe, barely able to believe this was real, memorizing every moment. He lay on top of Aziraphale, mouthing at the back of his neck, nudging his knees between Aziraphale's to spread his legs open.

Aziraphale eagerly pushed himself slightly upward onto his knees, abandoning pretense, silently pleading for Crowley to get on with it.

Crowley slid his cock along Aziraphale's cleft, snapping more lube into existence, pressing the head against his hole ever so slightly.

"Is this what you wanted, angel?"

Aziraphale let out a whimpering moan, his body pushing back to meet Crowley's length pressing against his rim, trying to get it to slide inside.

Crowley held still and waited, just another few moments, until heard a whimpered " _please_ " fall from Aziraphale's lips.

Crowley bit his lip and could do nothing but oblige, sliding his cock into Aziraphale's body easily, still loose and ready from the much larger Effort earlier, his own come still dripping out as he thrust, the slickness of it letting him set a quick pace easily. It was beautifully filthy.

"You're lucky it was me that caught you, and not one of the demons that would ssslice you up for the fun of it. I'm just going to fuck you until you can't walk. _Jussst like you want_."

Aziraphale's hips tilted to invite him deeper, his cries muffled into his forearms where he pillowed his face above the grass.

"Oh, you like that, don't you, angel?"

"I don't- _ah!_ "

"You still haven't told me to stop. Tell me to stop, then."

Aziraphale bit his lip, torn between the eroticism of the fantasy, tempted to tell Crowley to stop... But there was a chance that Crowley _would_ stop, make him wait for it, beg for it again. Crowley's self control was far stronger than his own at the moment, and Crowley was entirely capable of stretching out the tease longer than Aziraphale could bear right now.

"Have mercy on me," he stuttered out instead.

Crowley hummed in pleasure, the phrase unexpectedly sending burning heat through him, something about it so twisted and delicious that he had to slow his thrusts for a moment to keep himself under control. He dug his nails into Aziraphale's hips as a reward, gripping just tight enough that there would be another layer of bruises and nail marks, but not enough to break skin, knowing how tender it must be from earlier.

" _Fuck_... Mmmph. That's not what 'stop' sssounds like, angel. Though you are entirely welcome to keep begging for _mercy,_ if you like."

Aziraphale moaned into his arm as the pace increased. Crowley was hitting his prostate on every thrust, knowing precisely the angle that made his head spin.

Perhaps it was better that it had taken them so many centuries to get to this, Crowley considered.

"Do you want me to stop? Tell me to stop," Crowley repeated in a low purr, a _dare._

Aziraphale couldn't, wouldn't say it, too sure that Crowley would actually stop, and he was so close to coming, his muscles tensing, waves of heat building...

"Please..." Aziraphale choked out, thrusting his hips back hard against him, chasing his pleasure.

"Please, what? Please stop? Please keep fucking you? Please make you come?"

Aziraphale whined brokenly in response, having difficulty forming proper words, caught deep in this fantasy that had started so very long ago and had carved a need into his mind, a slowly deepening riverbed of _want_ , and Crowley was crashing through it in waves. It was overwhelming in the very best way.

"You want to come, don't you, naughty little angel, I can feel it," Crowley hissed into his ear. "I want to hear you say it."

"I- I want to come."

"Beg for it."

Aziraphale was too far gone to pretend to protest much, the submission of begging to come had become one of his weaknesses, and Crowley knew it. "You... you _demon.._. Please... make me come," he gasped.

Crowley gripped his hips, hard enough to bruise, getting close himself, his teeth nipping at the back of Aziraphale's neck.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Crowley panted into his ear, reaching down to stroke his cock. "And you beg so _prettily_. I should _keep_ you, take you back to the nessst..."

That was all it took, Aziraphale _wailed_ as he came, his whole body shuddering, and Crowley wrapped his arm around him to keep him from collapsing.

" _Fuck_ ," Crowley bit out again, chasing his completion though the spasms, his hips smacking against Aziraphale's body wetly, both of their thighs covered in come.

Aziraphale moaned, fighting oversensitivity, his body shaking as he tried to stay upright.

Crowley's hips snapped forward as he came, thrusting as far inside as his body would go, pushing hard to try to get deeper, groaning into the nape of Aziraphale's neck, his forehead brushing soft blond curls.

Quickly their exhaustion took over, their bodies finally remembering the past several hours. Crowley pulled out slowly, gently, rearranging Aziraphale to lay on his side beside him, coiling around him tightly, possessively, gently biting his throat.

"Definitely keeping you," Crowley growled into his ear, wrapping his leg fully over Aziraphale's hip, squeezing him closer. Aziraphale trembled under him, aftershocks causing his thighs to shake, the possessiveness in Crowley's tone prolonging it.

Crowley held him firmly until he settled, bonelessly melting into the grass.

"Is that what you had in mind, angel?"

Aziraphale hummed wordlessly, utterly sated.

"Yeah?" Crowley responded, hearing the smile in the noise, a satisfied little grin appearing on his face.

"Better than," Aziraphale murmured.

"I wouldn't be opposed to another round before the summer is over," Crowley drawled casually, "maybe when it's less damp." They were filthy with mud and grass, and Aziraphale knew it would take a proper shower before he really felt clean again.

"Perhaps when the apples are ripe," Aziraphale offered, trying to keep from sounding too eager, his imagination already whirling.

Crowley looked at him, his grin transforming into that knowing little smirk.

Aziraphale kept himself from flushing, but only just.

They lay there, half dozing, for a long time, wrapped tightly together, purposely trying to think of apple trees, ley lines, and magic rain, _anything_ really, other than how little time they had left together.

~

Cook stood at the side door to the kitchen, stubbing out her last cigarette. She had come outside after the thunderstorm ended for a quick smoke and saw two... _somethings_ flying over the trees with impossibly large wings. She had been watching the sky for over an hour to try get another look. She finally put her mobile back into her pocket, giving up on getting photos of... _what_ , she wasn't sure. A snowy owl and a crow? They had looked too... _humanoid_ for that. She shook her head and went inside. She must have had far too many gin and tonics, because obviously there simply couldn't be _angels_ flying around England. Preposterous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene almost got cut because the first draft was basically crack, and obviously it's not at all necessary for the plot, but first of all, _what plot_ , and second, we all know about the dark days coming up, so perhaps the boys can have a little intermission fun before it all goes down like a lead balloon, so if you would please, give me some hope that this doesn't completely ruin the entire fic for you, I would really appreciate the validation? Er. Or, if you want to pretend all this absurdity didn't happen, I absolutely understand, and I'll see you next time for our regularly scheduled emotional pining and thanks-for-my-pornography in chapter 11?
> 
> ...Cheers.


	11. Need

2019

Wednesday

Three Days Until the End of the World

London

Soho

_"Something's changed."_

_"Oh it's a new cologne, my barber suggested-"_

_"I know what_ you _smell like."_

Like milk and honey, like air and ozone, like tea with too much sugar, like old books and _home._

_"The Hellhound has found its Master."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I felt it. Would I lie to you?"_

_"Obviously, you're a demon, that's what you do."_

_"Well, I'm not lying."_

Crowley was rather astonished that Aziraphale still hasn't picked up on the fact that Crowley has only been able to lie to Aziraphale _once_ in the past two thousand years, during their fight about the Holy Water in 1862. Crowley hadn't realized it had been a lie until 1978 when the truth came tumbling out of his mouth, unbidden.

_"The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He's named it. It's done. He's coming into his power. We're doomed."_

_"Well, then. Welcome to the end times."_

Aziraphale tried not to notice Crowley's lower lip quivering, ever so slightly. He had never seen Crowley afraid quite like this before, this hushed, barely suppressed terror. It was utterly sobering.

After eleven years of careful planning and unending work, failure was heavy in the air. Eleven years wasted, raising and influencing the _wrong boy_. Wasn't it utterly hopeless? How could they possibly even hope to avert Armageddon now? They had only days left. After six thousand years, it was but a breath of time.

What could they possibly do?

At the same moment they both leaned forward, lips meeting in hard desperation across the table. They gripped at each other's clothes, suddenly needing each other more feverishly than any drug. A glass of whiskey spilled to the floor and was ignored.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale to his feet and gripped his shoulders, pinning him against the side of a bookshelf. Crowley pulled his scarf and jacket off and threw them to the floor. His glasses were next, tossed to the table carelessly.

Aziraphale unbuttoned his coat and started to untie his tie.

"Let me," Crowley whispered, his hands moving to stop the angel.

"Let you… what?" Aziraphale's brow furrows in confusion.

Crowley tapped at his hands until Aziraphale let them drop to his sides.

Crowley didn't answer, but his fingertips moved to tangle into the fabric, gently pulling the knot loose, his unblinking eyes entirely focused.

Aziraphale stood frozen. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Crowley this shy, as if he was asking for something incredibly intimate or even rather inappropriate. But it was just a bow tie... right? Aziraphale didn't quite understand the appeal, but he was taken aback and quickly became rather flustered by the near _worshipful_ expression on Crowley's face. Those yellow eyes never wavered as the strip of cloth slid through his collar.

Crowley held the bow tie in both hands, staring at it for just a moment, before folding it neatly and setting it on the table.

"I don't..." Aziraphale started, trying to think of words that both meant _I don't understand_ and _why haven't you said something before._

Aziraphale saw a light flush, high on Crowley's cheekbones, and his insides squirmed with affection, seeing Crowley's control of his corporation falter, a rare occurrence now. As far as Aziraphale was concerned, Crowley could untie his bow tie as many times as he would like, if he was going to do it with that expression on his face.

"Just, er, always wanted to do that," Crowley said, the hoarseness in his voice belying his casual tone.

Crowley wouldn't meet his eyes, and Aziraphale could see he was rather embarrassed.

"Anytime you like, dear," Aziraphale murmured, trying not to make too big of a fuss about it, knowing it would make Crowley even more uncomfortable. Aziraphale tried not to smile too widely, _entirely_ charmed by Crowley's shyness over something that was so simple and innocent.

But surely that was it, wasn't it? Simple and innocent were hardly demonic traits. Aziraphale wanted to know how long Crowley had thought about untying his tie, but he didn't dare ask. Surely, he hadn't thought Aziraphale would mind, right?

Crowley flushed brighter, still couldn't quite meet his gaze and couldn't bring himself to respond. He buried his face into Aziraphale's neck instead, dragging his teeth over sensitive skin, causing that gasp that Aziraphale always made at the sensation, the noise Crowley was so addicted to.

Crowley's need to touch him became more and more desperate. He tangled his fingers into white curls to hold him steady, quickly undoing the rest of his many buttons one handed. Aziraphale slid out of his jacket, waistcoat and shirt as quickly as he could, letting Crowley lay them over the back of his desk chair.

Crowley abruptly fell to his knees in front of him, and something about it was far more... _reverential_ than Aziraphale had ever seen from Crowley before, and it was nearly overwhelming. Crowley immediately sucked his hardening cock into his mouth without preamble, pushing his trousers to the floor impatiently.

A noise escaped Aziraphale's throat, shocked and overwhelmed by Crowley's impatience, his breath coming in stutters. His prick immediately fully hardened in the confines of Crowley's burning mouth.

"Oh! Oh _my dear_ ," Aziraphale panted as Crowley swallowed his cock into his throat and Aziraphale fought back an orgasm that was coming entirely too quickly.

Aziraphale's fingers curled into his hair, pulling tightly on the top of his head to slow his pace. He missed Crowley's long hair, but this modern style was incredibly flattering to Crowley's sharp features, and he could never ask Crowley to change for him. Hair at the top hurt more to be pulled, and Aziraphale wondered if that was part of the point.

Crowley's fingers trailed up the insides of his thighs, and Aziraphale spread his legs in invitation, the motion provoking Crowley into letting out a little moan around his cock.

Crowley's fingers could only tease at this angle. He stood impatiently, opening a random drawer near the ancient computer, not realizing that he found a bottle of lube inside only because he expected it to be there.

" _Yes_ ," Aziraphale breathed, and unexpectedly turned and bent over the table.

Crowley nearly choked on his tongue at the sight and paused, memorizing the view in front of him, the angel laying on his chest flat to the table, his trousers pooled around his ankles, one shoe still on, waiting for him.

Aziraphale was so proper and buttoned up that even though Crowley had seen him act wanton many times over the last few hundred years, Crowley never saw it coming, and it was always a heady surprise.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at the noise, his own brand of knowing smile rising on his face.

Crowley had been suspecting for some time now that taking the demon by surprise with his behavior was one of Aziraphale's many kinks, and surely this was proof.

Aziraphale felt one, and then two fingers, scissoring, stretching quickly. Crowley added a third for only a moment before pulling away to shove his trousers to the floor.

"That enough? Need you," Crowley whispered. His words tumbled out quick without thought, his tone tight, desperate.

"Yes," Aziraphale whimpered, the words _need you_ making him ready more effectively than fingers possibly could. Aziraphale vividly remembered the last and only time Crowley had ever said _need_ , in 1978, when he had been frozen and vulnerable, when he had demanded that Aziraphale fuck him.

Despite Crowley's earlier haste, he opened Aziraphale onto his cock slowly, carefully, shallowly, going further inside with each gentle thrust. His long fingers seized his hips, pulling Aziraphale upward to balance on his toes so that Crowley could reach deeper.

Aziraphale's fingertips searched for purchase on the table, but the surface was smooth, forcing him to grip the side with one hand instead to give him the leverage to push backwards, meeting Crowley's powerful thrusts.

Once Crowley felt the stretch of resistance fade, his need took over and his pace became rough, holding Aziraphale up on his toes to achieve the proper angle that he knew would make Aziraphale see stars.

Aziraphale let out a keening cry that Crowley knew meant he was already close. Crowley kept hitting his prostate on each thrust, his own climax sneaking up on him. He couldn't wait any longer, and they didn't have enough time left anyhow. How many opportunities would they have to be alone together like this in the few days they had left on Earth? Was this the last time he would be inside Aziraphale? The last time he would feel this silky tight heat? The last time he would hold the angel down to pleasure him, listen to his cries, taste his skin?

Crowley caught Aziraphale's scrambling hand and moved it under them, wrapping their hands around Aziraphale's dripping length together, trapping Aziraphale's hand under his own. It only took a dozen strokes before Aziraphale was painting the floor with stripes of come, his thighs trembling in effort to keep him upright.

Crowley let go of his cock when the spurts subsided, gripping both hips to drive into Aziraphale faster and faster, filling him completely. He shuddered with pleasure as his orgasm took him.

Crowley slowly came to a stop, but couldn't bear to let Aziraphale up from the table. For a few long moments, he bracketed Aziraphale's body with his own, kissing the back of his neck, inhaling the scent he was addicted to more deeply than any drug. He couldn't bring himself to pull out.

"More," Aziraphale whimpered, his body still moving instinctively, his thighs trembling in the effort of staying on his toes.

Crowley groaned into his hair and started all over again, utterly grateful that he could stay here, buried inside the only being in existence that cared for him, that he cared for. He would gladly stay, bringing his angel to pleasure over and over, until the world ended.

They came together again a few minutes later, Crowley's nails buried in Aziraphale's plump hips, teeth digging into his shoulder to keep him from saying words that kept threatening to spill out.

It was a long time before Crowley let him up from the table. Crowley spent long moments touching his lips against every inch of skin he could reach. Just long enough to get his breathing under control. Just long enough to keep the tears from falling.

How could they survive without each other?

Less than a hundred hours to go.

~

Thursday

Two Days until the End of the World

London

Soho

_"Something smells... evil."_

Aziraphale paused uncomfortably for a moment, trying to keep himself from showing any reaction. Perhaps it was just lingering traces of Crowley's aura, the culmination of hundreds of years of his presence. Or, well. Er. He studiously kept his eyes from dropping to search the floor, wondering if there was still a stain somewhere from last night when Crowley had taken him over the table, mere steps away.

_"Oh, that'll be the Jeffrey Archer books, I'm afraid."_

Gabriel shrugged, easily accepting the excuse.

Aziraphale kept himself from laughing hysterically, but only just. He had not been expecting angels to drop by unannounced. If they had shown up yesterday... sudden, uncomfortable adrenaline shot through his corporation at the unwelcome thrill of nearly being caught.

It was too risky to have Crowley in the shop any longer. If archangels discovered him anywhere near it, they wouldn't hesitate to smite him immediately and ask questions later.

Aziraphale's stomach tied in knots. The bookshop wouldn't be the same without the demon lurking through the stacks or napping in the back room. Crowley was essentially part of the bookshop, at this point.

Part of him, too.

~

Thursday

90 MPH in Central London

Crowley enjoys driving Aziraphale around in the Bentley. His thighs are _right there_ , never out of sight, always within touching distance, and Aziraphale never fails to squirm or wiggle or gasp when Crowley reaches over to make contact.

But he _especially_ enjoys driving Aziraphale when they're in a hurry. Especially in Central London. Especially busy hours.

Crowley and the Bentley have a system. They work as a cohesive unit, not as a driver controlling a machine. Crowley can magic away obstacles with less effort than it takes to remember to breathe, and the Bentley sees them in front of them. It's seamless, without the need for back and forth thought, just pure, unfiltered communication. It's really a beautiful bit of magic, if Crowley does say so himself, and the Bentley would nod in agreement, somehow, without moving at all.

Crowley could drive with his eyes entirely closed or even have a bit of a nap and they wouldn't hit anything. They wouldn't get to anywhere near where they intended to go, but they would never crash.

Aziraphale doesn't need to know any of this.

Crowley knows it's selfish to not tell him. He can justify the omission by assuming that Aziraphale wouldn't believe him anyway. (He wouldn't.) It's thrilling, every time, watching the generally composed (unless when presented with theatre tickets, chocolate truffles, or a bottle of amaretto), buttoned up angel _react_ , visibly, audibly, physically _._ It's similar to the thrill of watching Aziraphale indulge in tasting such a wide variety of foods. Crowley is an expert connoisseur of Aziraphale's reactions, the nuances, the variety, the multitude of flavor palates.

But no matter how adventurous, no matter how many tastes there are to try and savor, everyone has their favorites.

Aziraphale's eating noises are the same flavor of sensuality as when Aziraphale puts his mouth anywhere on Crowley's skin. The same noises he makes when he's getting fucked slow and steady, the noises of consuming a delicacy, of feeling blissful pleasure. Satisfaction, notes of hedonism, and a lasting finish of greed.

Driving ninety miles per hour causes the same gasping breaths he sometimes makes when Crowley first penetrates him when they're being rough, or when Crowley tugs his hair, or holds his wrists to the floor or bed or wall. His voice wobbles like it does when he's begging for more, _harder_. Adrenaline, with undertones of tense anticipation, finishing with the tiniest hint of shock.

No matter the flavor, chances are, Crowley's getting hard.

_"You've lost the boy."_

_"_ We've _lost."_

_"A child has been lost. But! You still know-"_

_"_ We _know."_

_"His age, his birthday, he's eleven."_

_"You make it sound easy."_

_"Can't be that hard."_

Oh, but I'm nearly there, Zira, those gasps you make every time I accelerate, your hands gripping on the door and the dash, the near panic on your face as you try to speak-

_"I hope nothing happened to him..."_

_"Happened? Nothing's happened to_ him _. He happens. To everything."_

Crowley's jaw clenches, only slightly, and he hopes Aziraphale doesn't notice. Aziraphale found out about the Eating Thing, and now recently the Bow Tie Thing as well. Aziraphale doesn't need to discover this Thing as well, though it's probably the least embarrassing of them all, really.

Aziraphale's panting is seeping into Crowley's brain, very efficiently moving blood to other regions of his body. He white-knuckles the steering wheel to keep any other reactions from showing.

 _Fuck_ , he's supposed to be concentrating on stopping blasted Armageddon, and all he wants is to slam on the brakes and fuck Aziraphale silly in the backseat, miracle him open and slick, and thrust into that tight heat without warning, craving that rare shocked sort of squeak when Crowley does something that Aziraphale isn't expecting and immediately enjoys immensely.

 _"So,_ we _only have to find his birth records, go through the hospital files."_

_"Then what?"_

_"And then we find the child!"_

_"And then what?!"_

Aziraphale looks at him, with that flushed face and panting breath, and Crowley can't stop staring for too many seconds.

_"Watch out for that pedestrian!"_

_"She's on the street! She knows the risk she's taking."_

_"Just watch the- watch the road. Where is this hospital, anyway?"_

_"A village near Oxford, Tadfield."_

Crowley takes a deep breath, lips flaring. Those _catches_ in Aziraphale's breath...

_"Crowley, you can't do ninety miles an hour in Central London!"_

_"Why not?"_ Just for the fuck of it, just to see what Aziraphale will do, Crowley takes his hands off the wheel in a confused gesture.

_"You'll get us killed!"_

_Fuck_ , Crowley has to regain control of himself. He's _throbbingly_ hard. They don't have time for this- they _might_ have time for this if they succeed. Crowley isn't about to slow down- they absolutely don't have time for speed limits. He tries to think of _anything_ that will help to throttle his arousal. Hastur's frog. The smell of Los Angeles in the late 50s. Mitch McConnell.

_"Well... inconveniently discorporated... Music. Why don't I put on a little music. What's a Velvet Underground?"_

_"Oh, you wouldn't like it."_

_"Oh. Bebop."_

Aziraphale referring to The Velvet Underground as 'bebop' is, apparently, enough to break the mood.

~

Once they made it to the country, where there were fewer things to dodge, Aziraphale calmed down and started nattering on about philosophy.

_"Evil has the seeds of its own destruction…"_

Crowley let out his remaining frustration on a bad joke that he knew Aziraphale wasn't going to get.

 _"For my money, it was just an ordinary cock up_. _"_

~

Thursday

Tadfield Manor

_"What the hell did you just do?!"_

_"Well they wanted real guns, so I gave them what they wanted."_

Aziraphale stood still for a moment, unable to believe that Crowley would let a bunch of humans murder each other. It seems incredibly out of character. He had _just_ miracled away the paint stain on Aziraphale's jacket, and hadn't even protested when Aziraphale thanked him, had actually let a little smile show on his face. Aziraphale had barely resisted the urge to kiss him.

_"They're murdering each other?!"_

_"No, they aren't, no one's killing anyway. They're all having miraculous escapes, it wouldn't be any fun otherwise."_

Aziraphale sighed in relief, but he was still incredibly annoyed that his panic was for nothing. He knew the best revenge in this moment is going to be a compliment. He chooses just the right word...

_"You know, Crowley, I've always said that deep down you really are quite a nice-"_

_"Shut it!"_

Aziraphale found himself abruptly pinned to the wall, Crowley's mouth inches from his own, their noses brushing together, and he couldn't help but glance down at his lips in their snarl, feeling his cock twitch and start to pay attention. He stared at Crowley's lips in their snarl dreamily.

_"I'm a demon, I'm not nice, i'm never nice, nice is a four letter word-"_

_"Excuse me gentlemen, sorry to break up an intimate moment, can I help you?"_

Aziraphale straightened his tie and tried to stand a little differently so his pants would lay flat. He wasn't sure how successful he was being. He tried to hide his annoyance at the interruption.

_"You weren't by any chance a nun here at this convent 11 years ago, were you?"_

_"I was."_

_"Luck of the devil."_

Crowley did a double take at that, and Aziraphale wanted to bite his lip in amusement.

~

Aziraphale lagged behind as they neared the front door of the manor. Crowley stopped and turned.

"What, angel? Time's ticking."

Was it ticking at this very moment, though? They had no plan forward. They could spare a few minutes, right? Aziraphale bit his lip, knowing he was being foolish, and irresponsible, and reckless. Ever since Gabriel had accepted the excuse about the Jeffrey Archer books, he had been running on the adrenaline high of not getting caught, and it was difficult to resist riding that wave until it crashed.

Aziraphale hesitated, not knowing how to ask, craving Crowley's undivided attention, still half hard, still a bit annoyed that Crowley had baited him into thinking he had tricked dozens of humans into murdering each other.

Crowley took a few steps back towards him, and the intensity on his face, though it was not specifically aimed at Aziraphale, was enough that a shiver ran up Aziraphale's spine.

"What?"

Aziraphale opened a door in the hallway into one of many small, empty rooms. Perfect. He looked up and down the corridor, making sure nobody was watching, and then pulled Crowley by his sleeve into the room, shutting the door behind them.

"Something wrong, angel?"

"We hadn't finished our conversation," Aziraphale wasn't sure how to phrase it. He stuttered just a little.

Crowley took a step towards him, and Aziraphale took half a step backwards.

"I swear to- to- _Someone_ , if you call me _nice_ again- wait, what the fuck?" Crowley's unblinking eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you _trying_ to piss me off, angel?"

"Oh, bother. Well, is it working?"

"What has gotten _into_ you today?"

"Absolutely nothing," Aziraphale replied with a raised eyebrow, almost _primly_ , clearly impressed by his own cleverness.

Crowley gaped at the innuendo. One of his noises failed to turn into words as he gestured wildly.

Aziraphale flushed, coming back to himself, suddenly quite embarrassed at the words that had come out of his mouth. His eyes unconsciously took on that pleading expression, the one that Crowley could never resist.

"Crowley, dear, you can't throw me up against a wall like that and then _not fuck me_."

Crowley made a noise of disbelief, astonished at both the angel's cheek and his language. Aziraphale took a full step backwards, towards one of the walls. An obvious invitation.

Crowley grinned and took it enthusiastically, pinning him back against the wall, crushing their mouths together, teeth clicking. Crowley untied his bow tie again, more urgent and less worshipful this time, and Aziraphale groaned in anticipation, already unfastening his trousers.

"Could have just asked," Crowley mumbled into his throat, a bit crossly.

With flurried movements, Aziraphale's trousers and pants ended up tangled around one ankle. Crowley hoisted his other leg up, pressing it up against his chest. Aziraphale heard a snap and his body reacted, his hole becoming loose and slick. A little squeak of surprise escaped Aziraphale and Crowley groaned in response, his teeth finding their favorite spot on Aziraphale's throat as he positioned himself and slid inside in a long thrust.

It was quick and dirty and desperate. Aziraphale hung onto Crowley's shoulders, trying to stay upright, balanced on one foot, his senses overwhelmed. The sound of gunfire continued, mixed with the shouts of humans. For a crazed moment, Aziraphale imagined it to be the sound of crashing swords and the roar of Hellfire, imagined the thrill of doing this on the battlefield between Heaven and Hell if they failed to avert Armageddon.

Aziraphale's knee started wobbling and Crowley pushed him harder to the wall, his whipcord strength holding Aziraphale steady, his mouth traveling from Aziraphale's neck to his jaw to his mouth and back.

They both wished they could drag it out longer, but Crowley was right. Time was ticking.

"I'm- _ah!_ " Aziraphale cried out, and Crowley immediately reached for his cock, knowing Aziraphale needed just a little added stimulation to come, desperately needing to see it happen before they were interrupted by the humans, afraid this could be the last time.

Aziraphale moaned into Crowley's mouth as he came, mouthing _I love you_ but not daring to say it aloud. Crowley was quick to follow, pretending he hadn't noticed.

From the time Crowley slammed Aziraphale back up against the wall, to the pair walking side by side back out the front door as if no time at all had passed, was actually thirteen minutes, precisely.

_~_

Thursday

Lower Tadfield

_"There's a very peculiar feeling to this whole area. I'm astonished you can't feel it."_

_"I don't feel anything out of the ordinary."_

_"But it's everywhere, all over here. Love. Flashes of love."_

Of course Crowley couldn't feel the difference. If one has their hand in a fireplace and someone lights a match in the room, they're not going to feel the temperature change.

He was surrounded with Aziraphale's love, especially in the past few days, a constant outpouring of it, as if Aziraphale was subconsciously trying to get it all through his system before Armageddon.

Aziraphale is subconsciously doing _exactly_ that, though it's about as effective as a waterwheel getting a river through its system.

Crowley does _not_ want to have this conversation.

_"You're being ridiculous. The last thing we need right now is-"_

A solid _thunk_ hits them from the side. The angel is shocked, the demon is furious at the car for not seeing it coming, and the Bentley is confused that Crowley hadn't miracled it away without a thought.

_"You hit someone!"_

_"I didn't. Someone hit me."_

Neither Crowley or the Bentley has ever considered that they ought to watch out for witches on bicycles.

Crowley is completely unable to resist Aziraphale's insistence that they drive the witch wherever she wants to go.

_"Oh look, no gears. Just a perfectly normal velocipede."_

_"Bicycle. Can we get on? Get in, angel."_

Less than fifty hours to go.


	12. Inexorable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let's stop for coffee," Aziraphale had said, after the witch and her bicycle were sorted, "I'm peckish. Perhaps an omelette or something."
> 
> Then he orders half the menu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Can we talk for a minute about 46:11 of episode two? _Fucking fuck._

Thursday

Two Days until the End of the World

"Let's stop for coffee," Aziraphale had said, after the witch and her bicycle were sorted, "I'm peckish. Perhaps an omelette or something."

Then he orders half the menu.

Crowley watches as Aziraphale savors every bite, dish after dish, pretending to be casual, sipping on coffee, trying to ignore his throbbing erection leaking into his trousers. Aziraphale knows _precisely_ what this display is doing to him, and isn't even _trying_ to be coy. Crowley keeps trying to look away from that fork, away from its movements in and out between flushed pink lips, but Aziraphale keeps making little moaning noises and fluttering his eyelashes, and it's more than Crowley can resist. But he hasn't given in yet, hasn't let Aziraphale see a reaction. Crowley is far too stubborn to give in easily.

Crowley tries to steer the conversation back to thwarting Armageddon, trying to gain back _some_ control over the situation, but he is entirely distracted by the performance in front of him. Aziraphale knows it, and really, he's _such_ a bastard.

Aziraphale orders a milkshake next, pursing his lips around the straw, sucking lewdly on vanilla sweetness with unwavering eye contact, and that's what it takes to get a huff of breath from Crowley, the barest hint of an eye roll, but then Crowley immediately is back to his casual indifference.

Aziraphale takes the long spoon out of the metal tin of extra milkshake and sucks on it, pressing his tongue to the inner curve of the spoon. He runs his tongue along the edge of the handle to remove every last remnant of cream.

Crowley grits his teeth, and tries to pretend that he isn't gritting his teeth.

"Just a slice of cake then, if you please," Aziraphale says with a warm smile when the waitress sarcastically asks him if he would like dessert as well. She blinks, raising heavily lined eyebrows, and goes off to get it. Aziraphale knows she will be less annoyed with him when she finds out how well he tips. If she gets the chance to spend it.

It's lovely cake, really, yellow with strawberry frosting. Aziraphale slides the first bite into his mouth, letting out a little noise of pleasure. Incredibly impressive, for this random little late-night diner they had found, just off the M25. It's much better than the rest of the food he has eaten. He didn't expect top quality, not when they sat down and he realized the salt cellar was made of a light bulb.

He's going to miss food. Really, really going to miss food. Sushi, crepes, chocolate, brioche, pastries, wine... Even mediocre diner food, the greasy omelettes, the under salted hash browns, the rubbery eggs. The pleasures of Earth.

He's especially going to miss the way Crowley watches him eat, this game they play, of whether Crowley will maintain his composure as he's done for two thousand years, or whether he'll give in the way he gave in when the Antichrist was delivered. Aziraphale is happy whether he wins or loses the game, which means he's always going to play.

He going to miss this banter with Crowley the most, talking for hours, or sitting in comfortable silence, just _being_ with him. The state of ease in his own existence that he never feels with any of the angels.

Aziraphale simply can't go home yet, the bookshop is so empty now. He desperately missed Crowley's presence last night, and he is not eager to repeat it tonight. He already misses Crowley himself, even now, with the demon sitting right in front of him.

Crowley pretends to stare at the table, at his coffee, but Aziraphale knows his eyes are tilted upward to his mouth behind his glasses. Aziraphale can see the _slightest_ hint of pink on those sharp cheekbones.

Aziraphale can tell he's slowly breaking down. It's a rush, this adrenaline, this heady anticipation of having Crowley just on the edge of losing control, desperately waiting for, wanting it.

Aziraphale starts licking frosting off the fork in between bites, watching Crowley squirm ever so slightly in his seat and lean forward to get a better look. Aziraphale's breathing starts to get a little faster, knowing he's going to win soon.

They still don't have a path forward to find the child, and Crowley just keeps slapping down Aziraphale's ideas, one by one, as he eats, trying to sulk about their failure, trying to pretend he's unaffected.

It's annoying. They both know he's affected. He's _obviously_ affected. Crowley is hardly able to put a full sentence together.

_"He's got an automatic defense... thingy. Suspicions slide off him like... uh, whatever water slides off."_

_"Got any better ideas? Or one, single, better idea?"_ Aziraphale lifts an eyebrow. He opens his mouth for another bite of cake, sliding the fork between his pursed lips, maintaining eye contact.

Aziraphale is _determined_. He _wants._ He wants Crowley, in his mouth, specifically. He will order a slice of pie next, if that's what it takes to get Crowley to break.

Crowley tilts his head at that, his brow furrowed, _painfully_ hard. He has plenty of ideas right now, and none of them involve the Antichrist. Almost all of them involve Aziraphale's mouth.

Aziraphale pats either side of his lips with the napkin primly, staring at Crowley with a pointed look, smiling ever so slightly in satisfaction. He knows he's nearly won. The bookshop isn't safe so the car will have to do. He doesn't think the Bentley will mind, really. Aziraphale somehow has always gotten the impression that the car liked him.

Crowley swallows hard and stands, throwing a thick wad of money onto the table, his shaded gaze alone pulling Aziraphale to his feet.

"Dear, I haven't finished-" Aziraphale gives a token protest, successfully hiding a little smile.

Crowley makes a hint of a growling noise at him and Aziraphale leaves the last few bites of cake on the plate, following the sauntering demon out of the diner, smiling to himself.

~

Crowley opened the passenger side door of the Bentley and unexpectedly the front seat folded forward on its own, inviting them to the back.

"Get in, angel." Crowley's voice was gravelly. Even the Bentley had sensed what he wanted, had known what was coming. Crowley promised to himself that he would have a stern talking to with the car about what was appropriate behavior when the angel was around.

Aziraphale clambered into the backseat quickly. Crowley was right at his heels and clicked the door closed behind him. His hands tangled into Aziraphale's bow tie as he kissed him hard. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley hadn't let a single opportunity go by to untie his tie.

"You're sssuch a tease," Crowley hissed, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt to bite at his neck. His other hand was busy untucking his own shirt and pressing the heel of his palm on his cock to try to release some of the pressure of being hard for so long.

"I'm not, dear," Aziraphale murmured against his mouth, his tone full of promise.

"You _are_ ," Crowley groaned, unfastening his trousers, "Want your mouth."

Aziraphale eagerly pushed Crowley to the edge of the sear against the door, untucked his cock and leaned down to swallow it to the root immediately. Crowley let out a louder groan and thrusted up slightly into the wet heat, feeling Aziraphale's tongue working the underside. Aziraphale looked at Crowley expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

" _Fuck_ ," Crowley groaned again, thrusting upward slowly, threading his fingers into white fluffy curls, knowing exactly what Aziraphale was asking for, "I can't believe you sssucked off that straw right in front of me."

Aziraphale had the audacity to blush, almost _coquettishly,_ as he bobbed up and down, letting Crowley set the pace, a firm glide, a promise, guided by the tight fingertips against his scalp _._

"Don't act coy, angel, we both know that you knewwhat you were doing," Crowley somehow managed to make it sound like a hiss despite the lack of sibilants in his words, "Don't pretend- _ah, fuck!_ We both know you want me to fuck your mouth."

Aziraphale's flush deepened, but he tightened his lips around Crowley's thrusting cock and hummed a whimpered affirmative, somehow managing to look both ashamed and smug at the same time.

Crowley let himself go, giving Aziraphale exactly what he wanted, what they both wanted, holding his curls tightly in place while he thrusted up into his mouth. The head of his cock knocked against the back of Aziraphale's throat.

Though they had each considered fucking in the Bentley many times, they had mentioned it to each other, teased each other with it, they had never _actually_ fucked in the Bentley. It had never been the most convenient option. Coatrooms had always been their first choice when they were in a rush and couldn't wait to get back to the bookshop.

Crowley desperately wishes they had done this a hundred times, because this was _exquisite._

It didn't matter that it was cramped, it didn't matter that the metal of the door was digging into his shoulders. It was all worth it for the smell of leather, sex and that unique aroma of Aziraphale's skin, all around them, the windows closed and shielded against prying eyes. The scent kept becoming more and more concentrated, more intense, more overwhelming.

Crowley's tongue instinctively darted out to taste the air, then immediately inhaled it greedily, feeling it soak through his mouth and up into his brain, fulfilling some primal lust he hadn't even realized he had had. He felt the whites of his eyes shrink to nothing, becoming fully gold.

It had been a while since Crowley had really gotten rough, and thank _fuck_ they had this one last chance, so Crowley could memorize every last detail of this.

He tossed his sunglasses to the floor of the car, wanting no obstruction between him and this _vision_ in front of him, of Aziraphale's untied bow tie hanging around his collar, the top buttons of his shirt undone but otherwise still fully dressed, eagerly taking him into his mouth, wetness dripping messily down his chin, the hazed look of pleasure in Aziraphale's eyes, focused on him, darkened in desire.

It's almost too much, and it took every bit of self control Crowley had to slow down for a moment, trying not to come, desperate to prolong this.

He knew scales were starting to show through skin around his hairline, on the insides of his wrists, on his eyelids, all the areas where his skin was thinnest. Aziraphale hummed in satisfaction around Crowley's cock as he saw the demon's control falter. It was rare that Crowley lost control, and even more rare that he got serpentine.

Aziraphale further tightened his lips, moaning around the hardness fucking his mouth.

It was only a few minutes before Crowley couldn't handle it anymore, coming in burning hot spurts down the angel's throat, his hands tightened in Aziraphale's hair.

Aziraphale worked him through it with a satisfied smile in his eyes, continuing the suction until Crowley became over sensitive and pushed his head away.

Crowley's legs trembled with the intensity of his orgasm. Aziraphale sat up a bit, stretching his neck, the satisfied little smile growing on his face. Crowley saw the state of the angel's bulging trousers and it ignited his lust all over again. Crowley snapped, removing both of their trousers and pants to piles on the front seat. Aziraphale jumped slightly at being so suddenly exposed.

Crowley pushed Aziraphale away, to the far side of the seat, so he could scoot down to lay fully on his back. Crowley pulled one knee to his chest and braced the other onto the back of the front seat.

 _"Oh,"_ Aziraphale breathed, his chest heaving, staring down at Crowley's obvious invitation.

Crowley snapped again, trying (and succeeding) in making it look both seductive and nonchalant, stretching himself open, slicking himself ready.

Aziraphale let out another little _oh_ and immediately leaned forward, positioning himself, pressing the head of his cock against Crowley's entrance. He balanced one foot on the floor of the car for leverage.

Crowley did not have patience for his gentle approach, but with his legs cramped and folded like this, he had no choice but to let Aziraphale take his time.

And take his time he did. Aziraphale slid all the way inside in a series of gentle, careful thrusts.

"Angel," Crowley started, already close to demanding more, but Aziraphale covered his mouth with his own, their tongues sliding together. Crowley tasted himself in Aziraphale's mouth and somehow it grounded him, calmed him, as Aziraphale thrust slow and steady into his body.

It was a long time before Aziraphale sped up his pace. Aziraphale's eyes kept drifting closed, his expression the same as if he was savoring an extravagant delicacy, and then reopening to stare down at Crowley, who realized suddenly that Aziraphale was memorizing this, too, they both were trying to imprint this moment into their minds for eternity.

Crowley almost reached for his glasses again, overwhelmed at the intensity of Aziraphale's gaze, recognizing that look, realizing they had both been hoarding memories, hoping that they would be enough to survive on when the world was over and they would be forced to separate.

Crowley tried not to think about it, tried to concentrate only on the hard slide of Aziraphale inside him, hitting exactly the right spot over and over, desperately tried not to think about how, surely, this would be their last time.

Crowley felt his eyes burning and quickly let more of his skin become scaled, necessary to refocus his energy, determined to keep himself from crying.

When Aziraphale came, he collapsed on top of Crowley, kissing him desperately, biting his lower lip. Crowley saw tears in the angel's eyes when they broke the kiss. Crowley closed his eyes, hoping Aziraphale hadn't noticed his own.

~

_"You all right?"_

_"Perfectly, yes, tip top, absolutely tickety boo."_

_"Tickety boo?"_

_"Mind how you go."_

_"...Right. Well that was a thing."_

Crowley didn't understand the exchange at all. Aziraphale was clearly lying to him, but about what? It was incredibly confusing. Being all right? They had both gotten a little emotional, but hardly enough for Aziraphale to shut him out like this. Crowley didn't understand what had changed, but something was up, and he wanted to know what it was.

When he called the next morning, Aziraphale lied to him again.

_"No. No news. Nothing. Nothing at all. If I had anything, I would tell you, obviously. Immediately. We're friends. Why would you even ask?"_

_"No news here either. Call me if you find anything."_

_"Absolutely. Why would you think I wouldn't?"_

Friends? It was an interesting word, coming from Aziraphale. They weren't _friends_. Crowley didn't know exactly what they were, but _friends_ was definitely not the right word for them. Somehow _hereditary enemies_ was less abrasive to Crowley than _friends._

Okay, they were technically friends, obviously, they hung out, drank together, went to dinner, did all the bits that normal friends did. But _friends_ was somehow far too chummy and simultaneously far too casual for... _whatever_ they were.

~

Friday

One Day Until the End of the World

Heaven

Go to Heaven and explain it all, Aziraphale had told himself. Simple. Yet when standing here, with these austere white walls, the immaculately clean floor, surrounded by his peers, his superiors, his duties, his very _reason for existence_ , it was all far more terrifying than he had planned for.

He stumbled through his words.

What would Crowley do? Stay casual, stay calm, keep some information to himself, keep the tone light.

_"It's possible.. the demon Crowley- a wily adversary- keeps me on my toes, I can tell you."_

Aziraphale immediately regretted his choice of words. Only two days ago Crowley had literally kept him on his toes, taking him over the table- _Stop!_

Only six thousand years of practice controlling this body's reactions kept him from flushing. He quickly wiped the beaming smile off his face, frowning slightly instead.

He quickly bit down the urge to laugh hysterically in the face of utter terror and swallowed, quickly getting back to the point, his words slowly coming more easily, trying to argue against another war.

A pointless effort.

Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon exchanged pointed eye contact with each other as they exited the hall, lagging behind Gabriel.

Aziraphale didn't notice their looks.

He was staring at the floor, trying to steady himself, dreading the inexorable slide towards eternity.


	13. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale stood rooted to the ground, staring after the lanky figure stalking away, waiting for Crowley to turn around. Aziraphale wanted to call out, to stop him, but he had no idea what to say. 
> 
> But surely, the next step would be the one that would swivel Crowley back, Crowley would know how they could fix this, somehow there had to be a way of figuring this out... it will be the next step, he'll come back. He always comes back. 

Friday

London

Third Alternative Rendezvous

(The Bandstand)

_"I am not killing anybody."_

_"This is ridiculous, you are ridiculous, I don't even know why I'm still talking to you."_

_"Well, frankly, neither do I."_

_"Enough, I'm leaving."_

An exchange this heated was usually enough for them to sulk, not speaking, for a month or two.

But there wasn't _time_.

_"You can't leave, Crowley. There isn't anywhere to go."_

_"It's a big universe... even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off, together."_

_"Go off... together? Listen to yourself."_

It's too tempting, Aziraphale can't stand it, it's too much that Crowley wants to _run away together_ , it's the most romantic thing he's ever said. Aziraphale felt like he had just been handed his satchel of books in the midst of the burning church again. But Aziraphale has a job, has _duties,_ the reason for his entire existence, he doesn't have a choice! How can he abandon _God?!_

_"How long have we been friends? 6000 years!"_

_"Friends? We're not_ friends _. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common."_

No, Crowley actually agreed that they weren't _friends_ , though that's exactly what Aziraphale himself had called them, just yesterday.

_"I don't even like you."_

Crowley scoffed at the _absurdity_ of the lie. Aziraphale _loved_ him.

 _"You_ do _."_

_"Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you, we're on opposite sides!"_

_"We're on_ our side _."_

 _"There is no_ our side _, Crowley, not anymore. It's over."_

_"Right. Well then. Have a nice doomsday."_

Aziraphale gasped at the sudden end to the conversation. He hadn't meant... he meant that the Arrangement was over, that they couldn't both win at Armageddon, not...

_Did I just break up with Crowley?_

Aziraphale stood rooted to the ground, staring after the lanky figure stalking away, waiting for Crowley to turn around. Aziraphale wanted to call out, to stop him, but he had no idea what to say.

But surely, the next step would be the one that would swivel Crowley back, Crowley would know how they could fix this, somehow there had to be a way of figuring this out... it will be the next step, he'll come back. He always comes back.

But how? How could they fix this?

No words came.

Crowley kept walking.

~

Crowley's jaw clenched harder and harder as he walked, gritting his teeth, sending shooting pains through his skull. His stomach heaved and he barely kept himself from vomiting into the bushes.

 _There is no_ our side _, Crowley, not anymore. It's over._

The words repeated themselves over and over, a broken record playing in his head.

He let out a giant breath he didn't remember holding, a pained huff of air, accompanied by an inner voice mocking him, _I told you so,_ flavored with a strange rush of bitter satisfaction that he had never felt before.

Of course Aziraphale chose Heaven over Crowley. How could he not? Crowley had known this would happen from the start. He had been waiting for it to happen, maybe not today exactly, but he had known it would happen soon.

_No angel would betray God and Heaven for a demon, even one they claimed to love._

Crowley choked in a gasp of air in protest at the voice. He _knew_ Aziraphale loved him, he hadn't doubted it since Aziraphale had first insisted on saying it out loud.

But now...

Aziraphale loved everyone and everything, he was made of love. Of _course_ Aziraphale loved him.

_I don't even like you._

Crowley had scoffed at the obvious lie, but what if it wasn't entirely a lie? What if it was the only word Aziraphale had?

In his haze, he remembered the snowstorm in the seventies, the whispered words, _anything, my love_.

And then his memory went back further, to the sixties, _I know something good will come of us... I have enough faith for both of us, and then some. Everything will turn out the way it's supposed to._

Crowley tried to sneer, his features twisting. Aziraphale hadn't even made it to the true End. Crowley had always imagined Aziraphale on the battlefield with a sword to Crowley's neck and Gabriel hovering behind him, watching and waiting for him strike.

The battle hadn't even started yet, but Aziraphale had already given up on them entirely.

Crowley's breathing kept starting and stopping, his corporation long in the habit of _wanting_ oxygen, though he didn't need it. His mind was so far away from his body that his misery kept taking over his corporations's basic functional instincts. He could feel his heart beating irregularly. It took a real effort stop himself from reverting to a snake, which would be a very bad idea on the busy streets of London.

Crowley made it back to the Bentley with all of his limbs intact and slammed the door shut a little too hard. His fingers gripped the wheel instinctively and he pressed his forehead to his knuckles as a sob finally escaped him. Burning tears fell down his cheeks. He threw his glasses to the glaringly empty seat beside him and dug his knuckles into his eyes, trying to stop them from leaking so much. He despised himself for showing weakness, even to the Bentley, who didn't understand what it was seeing anyway.

Crowley had _known_ this moment was coming, had called it from the very beginning, he was not shocked, not even surprised, he had been waiting for it, he had _prepared_ for it. It had been a countdown just as inevitable as Armageddon itself.

So why did it _still hurt_ _so much?_ His corporation was screaming at him with pain, physical pain, running through every nerve of his body. No sign of injury, no stab wound through the chest, just six thousand years of cumulative heartbreak.

Crowley had always _wanted_ to resist the angel, from the very Beginning, had tried so hard to resist the charm, the kindness, the lack of hostility he was used to from angels. This friendly, polite angel who had given away his sword, who was utterly unlike any of the other angels. The only _real_ angel.

Crowley had kept his distance for a long time after Eden. He recognized this would be a weakness for him, these soft feelings he had towards Aziraphale, this Thing he refused to name. Each time they crossed paths, it flared up again, only to be pushed down, denied, hidden away. Trick the brain into forgetting. Avoid. Deny. Avoid. Nope. Not a thing. Not a problem. Isn't happening. No room for weakness.

Until Rome, when wine was involved, when the situation wasn't utterly depressing and humans weren't dying right in front of them, when Crowley saw the movement of Aziraphale's throat when he swallowed an oyster, when a little flirtation was too irresistible, when desire to _touch_ became overwhelming, when Aziraphale pointedly didn't stop him from touching, though he could have done so with only a thought, and hope blossomed in Crowley for something more... but then Aziraphale had immediately rejected him.

He'd fucked off to South America for five hundred years to recover from it.

But Aziraphale's existence never stopped tickling at the back of his mind, the craving for his presence. _Come find me_ , the angel seemed to whisper across the ocean, _come back to me._ It was entirely possible it was all just in his head. Even if it was real, it couldn't have been on purpose. It was magnetism, it was gravity. The Sun could hardly stop pulling in the planets, and the planets could hardly stop being pulled to the Sun.

Crowley resisted for a long time, remembering the pain of rejection, but sometimes the pull became nearly too much, and the effort of resisting became almost as painful as the rejection. Almost. Telling himself that he was imagining it, and there was nothing to resist anyway, helped. Almost.

Crowley's reassignment back to Europe was both a relief and a terror. He had run out of excuses to tell Hell why he wasn't able to go back to Europe, not quite yet, just another decade, and he just barely avoided being marked as insubordinate.

He ran into Aziraphale only a month after going East, because even though they had the whole bloody continent, of course they did. Of course.

But Aziraphale hadn't seemed to hold a grudge. They slowly settled into their Arrangement, and simultaneously pretended not to.

The number of years between each meeting grew shorter and shorter, and Crowley's resistance grew weaker and weaker, taking every chance he got to meet with Aziraphale, just _be_ with him.

And then Paris happened, and _fuck_ , Crowley was powerless to resist.

It just wasn't possible, not with Aziraphale pressed up against him, holding him tight within his wings, kissing him, whispering words like _always wanted you_ and then _take me, have me, I'm yours._ Crowley knew it wasn't true, even then. Aziraphale wasn't his. Aziraphale was Heaven's. Knowing this still wasn't enough to keep him from giving into a craving he had tried to ignore for millennia.

Crowley hadn't meant to fall in love. He had just hung around the wrong angel.

When he was finally honest with himself that it was happening, he admitted that it had only taken a minute and a half.

_...Gave it away._

_You what?!_

_I gave it away!_

When Aziraphale's wing had stretched out to shelter him from the rain, and how could he have stopped himself from stepping closer? How could he help his quiet gratitude that Aziraphale was treating him like an equal, not a lesser being?

 _You are a lesser being. You're weak,_ the voice said. _Love is weakness. Weakness becomes failure. You didn't learn your lesson. Weakness for needing answers made you Fall._

The voice was his own.

 _There is no_ our side _, Crowley, not anymore. It's over._

The world had already ended.

~

Saturday

The Last Day of the World

London

Mayfair

_"Great plan… God, are you listening? Show me a great plan. ...You shouldn't test them to destruction, not to the end of the world."_

Crowley didn't want to give up on the humans. He was rather fond of them, not necessarily as individuals, but as a group. After watching them grow as a species, it was hard not to feel a little paternal towards the lot of them.

But wouldn't they lose quite a bit of their charm, without Aziraphale around to point out their charming qualities? If he somehow managed to thwart Armageddon on his own, and the world was saved, would Crowley even be able to stand living amongst the humans as the only occult being on the planet, existing in utter loneliness? Even if he found humans to befriend, their lives were over so quickly. Aziraphale had learned that lesson too many times. After Oscar had passed, Aziraphale had mourned long, and had vowed not to get so attached to a human again. Crowley had seethed with barely contained jealousy when Aziraphale had described his relationship with this man, though he had already been dead for fifty years before Crowley even knew he existed. Though Aziraphale had denied they had been anything other than friends, Crowley knew the affect Aziraphale had on the humans that met him. Of course Oscar had been in love with him. How could a poet _not_ fall in love with an angel?

How could _anyone_ not fall in love with Aziraphale?

He bit down on his tongue to stop any words escaping him while hearing Aziraphale's lament for a dead English writer, a source of comfort while Crowley slept away the century in Kamchatka, dreaming of that look of anger on Aziraphale's face when the angel had stormed away from him... That Aziraphale had sought comfort from the humans was nearly unbearable.

Crowley remembered the shame of lurking outside the bookshop for years when he got back to London, wishing he had the courage to go beg Aziraphale for forgiveness.

_"Why didn't you ever come in? Really?"_

_"I've already told you, I thought-"_

_"You thought wrong."_

Crowley didn't have time to wait for the Nazis to blow up another church so he could rescue more books. If there was even the _slimmest_ chance...

~

" _Angel, I'm sorry, whatever I said, I'm sorry... We can run away together, Alpha Centauri…."_

_"I forgive you."_

_"I'm going home angel, and I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving. And when I'm off in the stars I won't even_ think _about you!"_

~

_"Consorting with the enemy..."_

_"Oh- I- I haven't been consorting-"_

_"Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in hell."_

Boyfriend was _not_ the right word, Aziraphale's subconscious protested. It was such a trivial word for the enormity of what he had with Crowley.

This was _not_ the time to argue.

~

_"This is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style."_

_"I know who you are, you idiot, I telephoned you. I know where the Antichrist is-"_

_"Yeah, it's not a good time, got an old friend here-"_

~

Aziraphale pulled the rug away from the circle and activated it.

He shouldn't have locked the door with only a metal lock.

He shouldn't have used candles.

He mostly shouldn't have stepped backward without looking behind him.

_"Oh, fuck."_

~

_Ooooh, you make me live, whenever this world is cruel to me, I got you to help me forgive..._

_"Somebody killed my best friend! Bastards! All of you!"_

_Find me somebody, somebody to love, somebody to love… find me, find me, find me..._

~

Aziraphale's vision was clouded and blurry but he could see the outline of Crowley wavering drunkenly at a table. Not just drunk. Utterly shitfaced, swaying, and talking to himself.

 _"Are you here?"_ Crowley asked, wondering if he was imagining Aziraphale's face in front of him. He'd had a _lot_ to drink, after being broken up with, and then nearly burned alive, but he didn't think he had had enough to start hallucinating.

_"Good question, not certain, never done this before. Can you hear me?"_

_"Of course I can hear you."_

_"Afraid I've rather made a mess of things. Did you go to Alpha Centauri?"_

_"Nah, changed my mind. Stuff happened... I lost my best friend."_

Aziraphale was a little lost for words. Crowley had never called him that before. Aziraphale wouldn't have guessed _that_ was the term Crowley would use to describe their relationship. The demon's voice was wavering in and out. Had he misheard?

_"…So sorry to hear it."_

_"Look, wherever you are, I'll come to you. Where are you?"_

Aziraphale's nonexistent heart clenched in the pain of sense memory. _Wherever you are, I'll come to you._ But he had to stay focused on the problem at hand.

_"I'm not really anywhere yet. I've been discorporated... You need to get to Tadfield Air Base. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you think."_

Crowley was _far_ too drunk for this.

 _"I'm not going to go there,"_ he murmured, his mind spiraling in several different directions.

Aziraphale seemed to not hear him.

_"I do need a body. Pity I can't inhabit yours. Angel, demon, probably explode. So I'll meet you at Tadfield."_

It was if their argument at the bandstand had never happened. Crowley felt a whirl of anxiety in his stomach, with just enough touches of hope to make his heart break all over again. His stomach heaved and he couldn't tell if it was nerves or the whiskey. Probably a bit of both.

" _Tadfield Air Base.._."

Aziraphale was gone.

Crowley threw the rest of his cash on the table, vastly overpaying his bill, and sobered himself up as he ran out to the Bentley, wincing. If there was even the _slightest_ chance...

He would let _nothing_ stop him from reaching Tadfield.

From reaching Aziraphale.

Not traffic, not Hastur, not even a wall of fire.

~

_"Crowley!"_

_"Hey Aziraphale! I see you found a ride. Nice dress. Suits you."_

Aziraphale was filled with instant relief. He had not been sure if Crowley would recognize him, with this face, but apparently hearing him say his name was all it took.

_"This young man won't let us in."_

Crowley leaned in close to his ear, the hint of a smirk on his face, and Aziraphale could feel the body he was sharing shiver in response. He had no control of its reactions, not when he was only visiting.

 _"Leave it to me,"_ Crowley drawled into his ear.

Madame Tracy was adding to the shiver now, too. Aziraphale could feel her looking and _enjoying_.

Aziraphale wanted to tell her to stop looking, that Crowley was _his_ , but he wasn't really, was he? He wasn't. Not really. Not anymore. If he ever really was.

Would he be, though? If they got through this, somehow, impossibly? Would Crowley be his, after all that had happened?

After what Aziraphale had said?

After what Crowley had never said?

_~_

_"Right. That was that. Well, it was nice knowing you."_

_"We can't give up now."_

_"We are fucked!"_

_"Come up with something, or..."_

Aziraphale held the sword uselessly in his hand. He had no threats that would work, had _nothing_ , except, maybe...

_"Or I'll never talk to you again!"_

It worked.

It _all_ worked _._

_~_

_"I don't think you need to go worryin'" said Adam gnomically. "I know all about you two. Don't you worry."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter without smut?!! 
> 
> I'm sorry. It was necessary. We had to get some angst and plot out of the way for the smut and tooth-rotting fluff that's coming up.
> 
> plz validate me plz


	14. Ineffable

Saturday

The Very First Hour Of The Rest Of Their Lives

Tadfield

A cardboard box of mythical objects sat between Aziraphale and Crowley on the bench, keeping them apart.

Their words were just a little stilted, slightly awkward, but at least passing the bottle of wine back and forth still felt natural.

There was too much to say, it was difficult to start.

_"Angel, what if the Almighty planned it like this, all along? From the very Beginning."_

_"Could have. Wouldn't put it past Her."_

When the delivery man removed the box and drove away, the angel and demon stared at at each other for just a moment. Somehow it felt like they were finally alone, as if the last remnants of their former selves had been carried away in a plain brown cardboard box.

The lights of the bus shining into Aziraphale's eyes over the hill broke the moment before they could take advantage of it.

_"I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop."_

_"It burned down, remember? You can stay at my place, if you like."_

The tone and cadence of the phrase was an exact echo of, _"There's wine at my place, if you like,"_ the offer Aziraphale had made to Crowley nearly two thousand years ago, in Rome. The hesitancy, the politeness, the quiet hope.

Aziraphale _had_ forgotten about the fire for a while, and the loss of his shop weighed heavy on his heart. It had been his home for nearly three centuries.

He didn't want to intrude, though, not after the horrible things he had said to Crowley, not after everything he'd done to push the demon away.

_"I don't think my side would like that."_

_"You don't have a side anymore... Neither of us do. We're on our own side."_

There was sadness in Crowley's voice, a deep pain, the edge of it softened in his kind tone.

Aziraphale didn't know what to say.

~

They sat next to each other on the bus, instead of a row apart, for the first time. No reason to hide, now. At least, not yet. Not for a few more stolen hours.

Aziraphale cautiously touched his fingers to the back of Crowley's hand as they sat, desperately needing the physical contact to reorient himself, still feeling very unsettled. He had been so abruptly returned to his familiar corporation, siphoned out of Madame Tracy with barely a warning. It was the strangest feeling he had ever experienced.

Crowley tensed under his touch for a moment, and Aziraphale, already emotionally drained, felt a prickle of tears behind his eyes. Crowley had never tensed at his touch before, as if he anticipated that pain would follow.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley was already in pain, he could sense it in his aura, as if his mind was rotting from the inside. Aziraphale suspected and feared that it was _him_ , that Crowley had not forgiven him for their argument at the bandstand, had not forgiven him for all his terrible words. _I don't even like you._ They both knew it was a lie, but Aziraphale had still _said_ it, and he desperately wished he hadn't. _There is no our side, not anymore._

But Crowley had just said _our own side_ on the bench, hadn't he? Aziraphale looked over at him _._ He had no idea how to ask for the reassurance he desperately wanted, especially when he felt he didn't deserve it. Crowley was staring out the window through his sunglasses. Crowley sensed Aziraphale's gaze and turned to look towards him, his expression unchanging.

Aziraphale gave his hand the slightest squeeze and offered a cautious smile. Crowley stared back at him for a moment more, unsmiling. Aziraphale stared back. What would Aziraphale do if they had gone through all of this, only for Crowley to leave him? He wouldn't be able to stand it, but he would deserve it. After a full minute of uncomfortable silence, Aziraphale moved his hand away, fearing that Crowley was angry enough at him that it had broken them apart completely. His heart ached with misery and regret.

Crowley quickly turned his hand over and laced their fingers together tightly before Aziraphale could fully pull away. Aziraphale stared for a moment longer as the grip kept tightening, quickly becoming painful, but Aziraphale wouldn't pull away, couldn't even ask Crowley to loosen his grip.

Crowley kept staring at him silently, his face unchanging. Aziraphale wanted, _needed_ to ask him what he was thinking, but they could hardly have the conversation they needed to have on this bus filled with humans.

But, really, wasn't this all the answer Aziraphale needed, at least in this moment?

Aziraphale had started to pull away, and Crowley was not letting him go.

Aziraphale stared down at their hands together and smiled, his eyes definitely wet now, trying to keep tears from falling.

Crowley didn't quite smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in the suggestion of it, and that was enough.

~

The bus driver didn't even seem confused when he halted in front of a high rise in Mayfair.

Aziraphale _was_ a little confused when Crowley stood up, pulling him to his feet. Mayfair? They were a ten minute drive from the bookshop. Three to five minutes, the way Crowley drove. How was it that Crowley had _never_ mentioned how close his flat was to the shop?

Crowley did not let go of his hand as they left the bus, to Aziraphale's surprise. The front doors of the high rise opened for them without being touched, simply because Crowley had always expected them to.

Crowley kept a tight hold on his hand through a silent elevator ride to the penthouse. Another door clicked open and Crowley pushed through it, pulling Aziraphale quickly in behind him. The door closed and several locks locked themselves.

Aziraphale hesitated just inside the door, feeling rather awkward, looking around but not really seeing anything.

It had never seemed strange to Aziraphale that he had never been to Crowley's flat until right now. And right now it seemed utterly mad that he hadn't.

After seeing Crowley lounge around in the bookshop for so long, this gray, empty space felt utterly alien.

Further doubts crept into Aziraphale's mind. How well can you know anyone, if you never see where they live?

How well did he know Crowley, really? He hadn't known they were nearly neighbors, by human standards.

By the standards of occult and ethereal beings, Crowley had purchased a flat in Aziraphale's back garden.

Crowley led him further inside, also a little hesitant. He didn't seem to want to move very far from the front door either.

The pain Aziraphale felt radiating from Crowley was increasing. Aziraphale's chest constricted. Perhaps Crowley was uncomfortable with Aziraphale being here after all? But as they stepped closer, it became clear what Crowley was uncomfortable about.

"Mind the melted demon," Crowley muttered, gesturing with his free hand to a puddle on the carpet near another door that he was giving a wide berth.

Aziraphale gasped at the horrible mess on the floor, what looked like melted rubber and smelled similar.

"What...?"

"Ligur. It missed Hastur. They came for me and I cashed in my insurance policy."

Aziraphale clenched his jaw and felt like an utter fool for ever suspecting that Crowley wanted Holy Water for anything other than destroying a demon.

Insurance, Crowley had called it, and Aziraphale couldn't believe he had misunderstood for so long. Insurance to protect himself from his own kind, because Crowley had long ago chosen Aziraphale's side over Hell.

Crowley had asked for protection, made his decision, a century and a half ago.

But Aziraphale had chosen Heaven over Crowley, had told Crowley they were on _opposite sides,_ just yesterday.

Aziraphale had finally, _finally_ made the decision to stand with Crowley, had chosen Their Side, only _tonight_.

"I'm... I'm so sorry," Aziraphale started, but Crowley shook his head and seemed to shrug with his whole body. Crowley could speak volumes with his body language, and Aziraphale immediately understood the gesture, that Aziraphale had been forgiven, that _now isn't the time for any of that, please, angel, for the love of..._

"Allow me to..." Aziraphale murmured, and snapped the remains on the carpet to a dumpster outside. It was the least he could do. He needed to apologize a hundred, a thousand more times, but he couldn't, knowing Crowley wouldn't be able to hear it right now.

Crowley nodded his thanks, still staring at the patch of floor where Ligur had been destroyed. Crowley hadn't been sure how exactly he was going to clean that up without coming into contact with it, either physically or metaphysically. For a while, he didn't think it would matter, for a while he thought he would never return.

For a while, the world had ended.

Crowley was trembling, Aziraphale realized suddenly, could feel it through his hand. Crowley clenched at Aziraphale's hand so hard that Aziraphale was a little surprised that he didn't break his fingers.

"Crowley," Aziraphale started, "are you all right?" Even though he knew, obviously, that neither of them were even close to all right.

"No," Crowley whispered, visibly trembling now.

"What can I-"

Suddenly Crowley's hand was gone from his, and Aziraphale's back hit one of the many plain walls as Crowley pinned him against it, gripping his shoulders painfully hard, nose to nose, clutching at him like he would be pulled away at any moment. Aziraphale was startled to see traces of tears in Crowley's yellow eyes, barely visible through his dark lenses.

"I can't believe- I can't believe you're real. If I hadn't seen it happen-" Crowley's voice cracked.

"Of course I'm real."

"Angel, I went _in_ the bookshop."

"You mean-"

"While it was on fire, yes. I went in to find you, I... I couldn't sense you. Not even slightly. I can _always_ sense you, but there was a bleeding hole in my head where you were supposed to be. I thought you were were gone forever, burned away in Hellfire. _Gone_."

"You... you..." _You walked into burning building for me?_ Aziraphale tried to ask, incredulous, but Crowley talked over him, the speed of his words increasing, and Aziraphale realized it was a stupid question anyway. Of _course_ he had. Hadn't Crowley proven long ago that he would go to any lengths to rescue Aziraphale?

"And it _hurt,_ felt like a wound, like someone had scooped out parts of my cerebellum and smashed it to jelly."

"Crowley-"

"And the last thing I had ever said to you was that I was going off to the stars and I wouldn't even think of you. Unless you count me hanging up on you." Crowley's voice cracked.

"Oh, _Crowley_..." Aziraphale's vision was swimming. They had both said stupid, hurtful things to each other in the past few days. Where to even start?

A tear escaped one of Crowley's eyes, falling to his cheek, and Aziraphale wanted to brush it away, but his arms were held tight to the wall.

" _I lost you._ " Crowley whispered.

"I'm here now," Aziraphale replied, feeling utterly helpless. He wanted to say _, I'm never leaving again, I'll always be with you_ but how could he promise that, when Heaven and Hell were sure to come for them with permanent destruction in mind, in a matter of hours?

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale said again instead, tears sliding down his cheeks, "I should have-" _Should have gone to Alpha Centauri with you, should have told you about the book, should have never hid anything from you, shouldn't have said any of those horrid things-_ he tried to say, but Crowley had made a wounded noise and crushed their lips together, a desperate kiss. Aziraphale felt more tears on his cheeks and he wasn't sure who spilled them.

Crowley broke the kiss to pull him away from the wall to embrace him, pinning his arms to his sides, burying his face in Aziraphale's neck and taking a stuttering breath, squeezing Aziraphale painfully hard.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale repeated, not knowing how to calm Crowley from this state, never having seen Crowley like this before, this desperate, open pain, these shattered thoughts and words. Crowley had _never_ talked about his feelings so openly, had never willingly shown any weakness.

"I _lost_ you," Crowley mumbled again into his neck, breathing heavily.

Aziraphale couldn't imagine how it must have felt. When he had lost his body, almost all of his senses had gone with it. He tried to imagine a hole where he sensed Crowley in the back of his mind and he shuddered in horror. Aziraphale pulled his arms free, needing to use his real strength to break Crowley's grip. He took Crowley's glasses off and tossed them to the side so he could embrace Crowley properly, their bodies squeezing together in desperate relief.

Aziraphale felt wetness on his neck, heard broken breaths, and he realized that Crowley was crying, actually _crying_. Crowley clung to him, hiding his face, clearly trying to pretend he wasn't, but soon enough a real sob escaped him.

"Oh, my dear boy..." Aziraphale was crying too now, entirely overwhelmed. He felt Crowley's shaking becoming more violent and pulled away from the wall. "Need to sit, I think," he said in between stuttered breaths, looking for a sofa. There wasn't one. Aziraphale was _not_ going to sit on that monstrosity of a throne.

Crowley kept his face tilted towards the floor, still trying to hide his tears, and pulled Aziraphale down the hall to his bedroom.

They sat next to each other on the giant bed and Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's throat again, trying to hold back sobs of relief, regret, pain. After a few minutes of failed attempts, Crowley gave in, too exhausted, mentally, emotionally, physically. He sobbed helplessly in Aziraphale's arms, gripping him tightly.

Aziraphale wanted so badly to whisper words of love, it was almost painful to bite them back, but Crowley was already so raw that Aziraphale simply couldn't risk upsetting him further.

"I'm back, I'm here, I'm real," Aziraphale whispered instead, over and over, and he tried to make it sound like the promises he wanted to give, silent tears constantly rolling down his face, reaching up to wipe them away. Eventually Crowley was able to slow his breathing.

"For now." Crowley said, his voice still rough with tears. He looked up at Aziraphale, his eyes fully golden, the skin around them puffy and red. He reached up to stroke the tear marks away from Aziraphale's cheek, and the tenderness of the gesture made Aziraphale's tears start again. Aziraphale cleared his throat, taking deep breaths, trying to hold himself together.

"Yes. But they won't come for us tonight, at least. You heard them, they will have to deal with their armies first."

"They're going to come for us tomorrow." Crowley gripped the lapels of his jacket, holding on tightly, as if Aziraphale would be blown away by the wind any minute.

"There has to be a way to survive, or Agnes wouldn't have written this prophecy. We just have to-"

"We will. Just- I _need_ -" Crowley's eyes were darkening to amber, his skin showing signs of scales. He was staring at Aziraphale's mouth.

Aziraphale's breath caught a little, the word _need_ sending his brain spiraling.

Crowley's hands tugged at Aziraphale's collar.

"Just... just kiss me, angel," Crowley whispered, his tone utterly broken.

Aziraphale eagerly complied, crushing their mouths together in grateful desperation.

Crowley kicked off his shoes as he pulled on Aziraphale's tie, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.

"Please," Crowley whispered against his lips. He was mortified that Aziraphale was seeing him like _this_ , weepy and emotional, but he was quickly running out of reasons to care anymore, running out of reasons _why_ it was mortifying.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale down on top of him, needing the weight of Aziraphale's body on him, to steady him, hold him down to the Earth. Crowley wrapped his legs around Aziraphale's waist, squeezing tightly, and their mouths met.

Kissing felt new, almost. They had both feared it would never happen again.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until their lips were swollen and red.

"Angel," Crowley murmured against his lips, some time later, when they were both panting and rocking against each other, hard as diamonds, "put your fingers in me."

"Oh," Aziraphale let out a noise of surprise against his mouth, "are you sure you don't want-"

"No- please- yes- I'm sure," Crowley moaned against his mouth, his hips undulating against Aziraphale's. He snapped to banish their clothes to the floor beside them, and Aziraphale didn't even care that his clothes were getting wrinkled.

Aziraphale eagerly unwrapped Crowley's legs from around his own waist, pushing them upward to rest against Crowley's heaving chest.

Crowley laid bare in front of him, his eyes still swollen from crying, his face and chest flushed in arousal. Aziraphale had never seen him this vulnerable before. Even those times he had been frozen to the bone, he had not been quite this desperate, this needy.

Aziraphale's need to comfort him grew stronger and stronger, wrapped up in his need to apologize to him a thousand times. He gently pushed Crowley's legs as high against his chest as they could go before leaning down and taking his prick into his mouth, stroking his fingertips lightly against his entrance, listening to Crowley's heaving breaths.

Aziraphale sucked him for a few minutes before pulling off and pressing his tongue against Crowley's hole.

Crowley's back arched up, a broken moan escaping his throat, his legs trembling at the overwhelming sensation.

Aziraphale slid a slick finger inside, still licking around his rim, savoring the whimpering noises Crowley was emitting.

Crowley's hips thrust against his finger immediately, silently asking for more, and Aziraphale eagerly complied, sliding his finger out and adding another on his way back inside. He crooked his fingers, caressing Crowley's gland, watching him arch up again, his eyes squeezed shut, and Aziraphale realized he was trying not to come.

Aziraphale stroked his fingertips harder against his prostate, needing to see it, somehow equating it in his own mind to Crowley forgiving him for everything he had tried to apologize for.

His free hand circled around Crowley's prick, stroking tightly.

"Go on, my dear... I want to see you come," Aziraphale said insistently, adding a third finger, pushing them through the resistance, stretching him wide.

Crowley let out a whine, torn between wanting to let go and wanting to hold back.

Aziraphale tucked his fourth finger neatly inside Crowley and tightened his strokes around the base of Crowley's cock, moving his mouth back to suck at the head, making the decision for him, and Crowley spilled onto his mouth immediately, clenching the sheets into fists with a hoarse cry.

Aziraphale hummed in satisfaction as he swallowed, stroking him through it, watching Crowley's face go slack in pleasure.

"Please, 'Ziraphale, please-" Crowley whined not five seconds later, his hips increasing their thrashing against his fingers.

"What, my dear?"

"I want you," Crowley whispered earnestly, quiet and vulnerable.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, a little taken aback, not immediately sure why those words had hit him so deeply.

Aziraphale flipped through his memories, trying to find an instance where Crowley had said simply, _I want_ _you,_ and came up empty. It had always been- _I want you to come, I want you to fuck me, I want to take you to that new bistro around the corner_ \- always something Aziraphale had been eager for, anyway, perhaps that's why he had never noticed that Crowley had never simply said _I want you,_ not ever, not even during their closest, most intimate moments.

Aziraphale had realized very long ago that Crowley was an onion. Every layer you peeled off revealed another, and the layers were so numerous that you never had any idea how close you were to the center.

Aziraphale stared down at him for just a moment, a bit overwhelmed, realizing he was closer to the center than he had ever been.

He sat up onto his knees, encouraging Crowley's legs back around his waist. Crowley dug his heels on his lower back impatiently, pulling him closer. Aziraphale gripped himself and aimed, pressing forward gently, sliding inside in slow but persistent strokes. Crowley's long fingers tangled into Aziraphale's hair, pulling him back in for more kissing, sliding his tongue back into Aziraphale's mouth.

Aziraphale groaned in pleasure, Crowley's body still wickedly tight and burning hot around him. He held still for a moment to control himself before starting to thrust carefully.

"Faster," Crowley pleaded.

Aziraphale complied, rocking into his body quicker but still gently, making sure Crowley was properly stretched, but utterly unable to resist giving him anything he asked for.

"Harder, 'Ziraphale, please," Crowley whined, his legs tightening around Aziraphale, his heels digging into his lower back.

Aziraphale's pace steadily increased, thrusting harder and harder, watching Crowley's face for any signs of pain. He held Crowley's hips to give him leverage, tracing his thumb across the scales that were starting to show through his skin at the crease between his groin and his thigh.

Aziraphale let go of one of his hips to touch the scales around Crowley's hairline, tracing them to the side of his eye, then down to his throat.

"You're _so_ beautiful," he couldn't help but say, and Crowley made a soft noise of surprise. Crowley had always tried to suppress his scales, his hissing, the yellows of his eyes, had always tried to appear more human, less demonic.

Aziraphale let out a little huff of disbelief. "You know you're beautiful, Crowley, don't be silly."

"M'not," Crowley whispered, entirely self conscious of more scales coming to the surface, feeling inhuman and alien under this gorgeous angel who had _literally_ posed for several paintings during the Renaissance (none of them had done Aziraphale justice, and they had left Crowley seething with heavily suppressed jealousy that anyone had spent that much uninterrupted time looking at him).

"You _are,_ dear, especially now, letting yourself go, showing me your scales... you don't know what that _does_ to me," Aziraphale groaned, trying to keep his body under control, knowing it was likely that he would be entirely out of energy after only one round, considering all they had been through that day.

"What?" Crowley whispered with a hint of disbelief, his unblinking eyes focused on Aziraphale.

"It's- _ah_ \- your true self, your... core being..." Aziraphale was having trouble stringing words together, "you're letting me _see_ you, and you're _lovely_."

Crowley sputtered, ready to disagree, because Aziraphale was obviously the _lovely_ one between them, soft and kind and fair.

Aziraphale pressed their lips together again for a moment, to shut up the disagreements he knew were trying to come out of Crowley's mouth, before continuing, "I _love_ it when you lose control, it... _oh_ , it _does_ things to me, Crowley, you don't even know..."

Crowley smiled, flushing a little, "I do know _that_ ," he murmured against Aziraphale's mouth, thinking of the many times Aziraphale had literally baited him into losing control.

Aziraphale's breath stuttered in an attempt at a laugh, "I suppose you do," he said, his pace becoming staggered, trying to prolong it, but the memories of all those times were playing back in his mind, all at once, and it was entirely too much.

Crowley reached for his own prick, stroking himself, watching Aziraphale's cock thrust into his body.

" _Oh_ ," Aziraphale made a noise like his breath had been stolen at the sight of Crowley pleasuring himself, one of those images that he would never grow tired of, the same image that had brought him to orgasm their very first time together, back in Rome.

Crowley stroked harder, faster, watching Aziraphale watch him, his blue eyes trailing from his hand around his cock, to the scales around his face, and back down to his hand.

Aziraphale's fingers on the scales of his face traced back to his scalp, tugging on his hair exactly the way he liked, and Crowley whimpered as he felt the beginnings of another orgasm quickly building within him.

"Fuck, angel, I'm close,"

Aziraphale doubled his efforts, thrusting hard against Crowley's prostate, holding his hair in a tight fist.

He saw more tears in the corners of Crowley's eyes and kissed them away, tasting salt and cloves.

Crowley stroked himself harder, his back arching, and he came again, pulsing his pleasure onto their bellies.

Aziraphale felt his muscles tightening around his cock and leaned down to kiss him desperately, one hand softening to stroke through his red hair, the other gripping Crowley's hip, thrusting hard and fast to his own completion, filling Crowley's body, kissing him throughly until the spasms of pleasure finished.

When he pulled out, they both collapsed bonelessly, utterly exhausted.

Aziraphale held Crowley within his arms as he fell asleep. Aziraphale wasn't sure when Crowley had last slept, but he suspected it had been the last time Crowley had stayed the night at the bookshop, several days ago, and he clearly, desperately needed it.

Aziraphale's mind was whirling far too much to even consider sleeping himself, though he suspected he could use it as well.

Aziraphale waited until he was sure Crowley was asleep before whispering, "I love you, Crowley."

A small part of Aziraphale wished that Crowley had finally said those wordsto him tonight.

Now that they really were on their own side, indisputably, hadn't all their barriers fallen away? Several of them definitely had, at least. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley cry before, had never been to his flat before, had never heard him speak so honestly about his feelings.

But then again, did it _matter_ , really? At all?

Crowley had sacrificed the Bentley to get to Tadfield. Aziraphale didn't know how the car had started on fire, or how Crowley had managed to keep driving it while it was burning, but Crowley had stopped at _nothing_ to meet him at the Air Base. The demon had come to his rescue yet again, this time riding a flaming chariot, _wonne shal ryde in flames; and theyr shall be nostopping themme_.

Crowley had literally _stopped time_ today, only because Aziraphale said to think of something, or he would never talk to him again. Aziraphale hadn't known Crowley could do that. He wasn't sure _how_ Crowley had done it, exactly, but it had clearly taken an extraordinary amount of energy.

Crowley had walked into the burning bookshop, to try to find him, risking discorporation, which would have been the utter end for him, as he was already on the run from Hell.

Crowley had walked onto consecrated ground to rescue him. Aziraphale vividly remembered the burnt soles of Crowley's feet, the cracked and blackened blood, the strangled noises of pain. That night was one of his most cherished memories. He would never forget Crowley handing him the satchel of his books, saying casually, _"A little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?"_

Crowley had saved him from discorporation far too many times to count through the centuries, always at his own risk, and it was true, Hell did not just send rude notes. Crowley could have been banished to the Pit any of those times.

Actions make things real, not words. Crowley's actions show his love far more effectively than saying a few syllables.

Do those vowels and consonants really even matter?

And that night after the church, hadn't Crowley heavily implied that he loved Aziraphale, nearly said it? When Aziraphale responded to his broken attempts with, _"I love you, too,"_ Crowley had smiled at him, had nearly glowed.

Aziraphale doesn't need to hear it. It's rather freeing, a relief, to know that he doesn't need to hear it.

Perhaps now, Crowley would be all right just hearing Aziraphale say it. That's really all Aziraphale wanted. Aziraphale wanted to say it a thousand times and not feel that the words sometimes hurt Crowley when he heard them.

Aziraphale gazed down at Crowley as he slept, moving a strand of hair from his face, stroking his cheek. Crowley was out cold, a hint of a snore starting to be audible.

Aziraphale would let nothing stand in the way of them being together. Not ever again. _Nothing._

They just had to survive, once more.

He sat up, careful not to wake Crowley, to read Agnus's words over and over, smoothing the scrap of parchment with his thumbs until the edges started to fray.

_For soon enough you will be playing with fire._

Hellfire, definitely. That was clear, obvious, the place to start. Whichever side caught up with them first was going to try to destroy Aziraphale with Hellfire. Good thing he'd been playing with demonic fire for centuries with little regard to his personal safety, right?

Crowley had no such tolerance for Holy Water, which would seemed the most likely weapon to be used against him, especially since destroying a demon with it was one of his top transgressions. Aziraphale wondered how they would get access to it. Surely nobody in Heaven would give it to Hell willingly, right?

He frowned. _Could_ he even survive Hellfire? Crowley's fevers weren't really Hellfire, were they? Would he be able to touch real Hellfire, walk into it, without _any_ doubts he would survive? No.

And it still didn't help solve the problem of Crowley surviving.

They were such opposite problems.

Opposite problems.

_Choose your faces wisely._

Aziraphale sat forward with a loud gasp of understanding, the noise and the sudden shift of his weight in the bed waking Crowley suddenly. The demon hissed as he sprang upwards, stumbling to his feet, his eyes squinting in panic, looking for an intruder.

"No, I'm sorry, my dear, it's all right! Still safe. They haven't come for us. I just- I figured out how we can survive!"

Crowley stared at him for a moment, disoriented.

"It's all right, my dear," Aziraphale repeated in a softer voice. He held out his arms, inviting Crowley to lay back down.

After a moment, Crowley relaxed and crawled back into bed, choosing to lay in between in his arms, to Aziraphale's pleased surprise.

"Whuhhh?" Crowley murmured into his chest, as he scooted closer, nuzzling his skin.

"I'm sorry for waking you, dear. There's still a few more hours til sunrise, if you'd like to sleep longer."

"S'fine. Up now," Crowley mumbled, his lips brushing against Aziraphale's chest.

It was very distracting, but Aziraphale pressed on.

"Choose our faces wisely- Agnus is telling us to switch bodies."

"Nnnngk?"

"Don't you see? Hellfire doesn't hurt you, so if you're wearing my body-"

"No... exploding?"

"I don't think so. If we had tried to share, perhaps it would be a problem, but just switching..."

Crowley sat up a bit and reached to his nightstand, where a cup of black coffee appeared.

Aziraphale couldn't stop staring at Crowley, with his sleepy eyes and ruffled hair, and the word _adorable_ drifted through his mind, as it usually did seeing Crowley in the morning. He never said it out loud, not wanting to offend.

Crowley took a long sip of coffee before setting down the cup and snuggling- yes, Aziraphale thought, _snuggling_ back into Aziraphale's arms, pulling the luxurious velvety black blankets over himself, tucking himself in tightly, only his face resting on Aziraphale's chest and a few strands of red hair visible.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the bundle of blankets, beaming with delight.

Aziraphale had never been denied a cuddle when he wanted one, Crowley hadn't ever been physically withholding, not _exactly_ , but Aziraphale was almost always the first to seek touch between them. Crowley had never been so casually enthusiastic about a morning cuddle before.

"How?"

"What, my dear?" Aziraphale was rather distracted by his thoughts, not to mention that Crowley was lying right in between his legs, pressed entirely against him, and the demon was both very warm and very nude.

"How do we swap bodies?"

"Oh," Aziraphale tried to turn his attention back to their predicament, "I'm not sure, actually. It's not as if it's been done before. We'll just have to try."

Crowley nodded and yawned sleepily, stretching bonelessly against him, and Aziraphale felt every inch of heated skin pressing against him, felt his body react to his movements.

"Good morning to you, too, angel," Crowley purred, feeling Aziraphale's prick twitching and hardening against him.

"It occurs to me, dear, that last night you didn't... that, is, well, er, you didn't get to..." Aziraphale flushed slightly, a little self conscious, though he wasn't sure why.

"I didn't what?"

"Er... Have me," Aziraphale stumbled a little on the words, his face heating. He let it heat, let his blushes show. Crowley knew what he was doing to him, why hide it? Not anymore.

Crowley stilled for a moment, looking up at him with sleepy eyes, and a satisfied sort of smirk lit up his face as he realized that Aziraphale wasn't trying to hide his blushes.

"How dare I," Crowley chuckled as he kissed Aziraphale's chest softly, his mouth burning hot. His tongue traveled lower, tracing the curves of Aziraphale's stomach, nibbling on his softness.

Crowley slithered entirely under the blanket to wrap his mouth around Aziraphale's cock, all the way to the root, with none of his usual teasing licks and kisses.

Aziraphale nearly levitated out of the bed at the unexpected sensation of the back of Crowley's throat around the head of his cock.

Crowley's fingertips circled around his knees for a moment before trailing upward to his inner thighs, nudging him to spread his legs. Aziraphale eagerly complied, his hips wiggling in anticipation.

Slick fingers stroked against his hole, and Aziraphale twitched against his fingertips, asking for them. Crowley didn't tease, spiraling around and dipping his first finger inside, letting Aziraphale writhe a bit on one finger before adding another.

Aziraphale took the second eagerly, his hips thrusting back against Crowley's hand. Crowley felt a sudden tingle of magic through Aziraphale's body, and he was abruptly fully stretched and open.

"Eager, are we?" Crowley said, with just a hint of a sulk, his voice muffled under the blanket. More often than not, in less perilous times, he had preferred to do this without miracles, enjoying the process, savoring the anticipation.

Aziraphale lifted onto his elbows and pulled the blanket away to look at Crowley's face. "Did _I_ \- I thought _you_ -"

Crowley laughed a little, his disappointment turning quickly into fondness. "Definitely wasn't me, angel."

"I suppose I _am_ rather eager, it's been quite a while-"

"It's only been _two days-"_

"Nearly three," Aziraphale responded, "I believe it's Sunday now."

"Insatiable," Crowley groaned, pretending to be frustrated, but obviously entirely pleased and rather flattered. Aziraphale saw the tips of his ears turn red.

"Well, since... I thought..."

The playful atmosphere mutated into something painful, a little too quickly, and Crowley put Aziraphale's cock back into his mouth to deal with it, effectively stopping the angel from finishing his thought.

Crowley slid the rest of his fingers inside, briefly considered adding his thumb as well, but he was too impatient, and clearly Aziraphale was as well, impatient enough to stretch himself open unintentionally.

Crowley sat up and threw the plush blanket to the side, taking Aziraphale by the hips and pulling his body towards him. Aziraphale was a vision, his white hair and pale skin contrasting with the jet black silky sheets beneath him.

Aziraphale made a particular little huffing noise of arousal when Crowley dragged him into position, and Crowley could tell he was in the mood to be manhandled a bit, so he did exactly that, pulling at his hips again, positioning him around until he was exactly where he wanted him.

Crowley wrapped Aziraphale's right leg around his hip, and Aziraphale dug his heel into Crowley's lower back, encouraging him closer. Crowley lifted his other leg to rest over his shoulder, holding it tight, pressing a kiss to the inside of Aziraphale's knee, feeling his plush thigh tremble in response.

Crowley added more lube to his cock with a thought and rubbed the tip of it against Aziraphale's entrance.

Aziraphale's heel dug harder into his back. Crowley held still, letting Aziraphale penetrate himself, letting him take the head.

Crowley leaned down to clutch Aziraphale's shoulder with his other hand, holding him down to the bed, and slid the rest of the way inside in a single, firm thrust.

Aziraphale's broken cry was music to Crowley's ears, the tight heat around him deliciously familiar. Sliding inside Aziraphale always gave Crowley the sense of completion, that they were one being broken into two, that their bodies were meant to be joined back together.

Crowley set a firm, steady pace to start, savoring the slick, constricting heat that he never thought he would feel again. For a long time he rocked into Aziraphale's body, watching his blue eyes slide closed in pleasure, listening to his heavy breathing.

Crowley saw a tiny sliver of light through the edge of his blackout curtains out of the corner of his eye, and he knew the sun must be rising. His pace increased, knowing they were running out of time.

Aziraphale moaned, his legs shaking, quickly approaching orgasm at this new pace. Crowley gripped his cock in a tight fist and stroked, wanting him to come, craving the feeling of his body clenching in tight spasms around him. It only took a few strokes before Aziraphale was coming, spilling onto his belly, shouting Crowley's name.

Crowley groaned at the sight of it, leaning down to thrust his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth, folding his body nearly in half, thrusting hard into him. Aziraphale's fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just right, and Crowley came inside him, thrusting as deep as he could go.

"I love you," Aziraphale breathed, unable to help himself.

"Oh, _fuck_ , angel... _my angel_ ," Crowley groaned into his ear before his teeth latched onto his neck, biting hard enough to bruise.

Aziraphale's eyes went wide at _my angel_ but he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, couldn't risk ruining this moment. He quickly reached up and wiped away his tears of happiness before Crowley could see them. _My angel._ Crowley had said _mine_ before when they had gotten a bit primal, but he had never said _my angel_ with that utter softness, with such affection, such open love.

Crowley didn't move for a while, laying on top of him, his lips not leaving the fresh bite mark on Aziraphale's neck, mouthing over it gently, kissing it.

Eventually Aziraphale's legs started to cramp and he wiggled until Crowley pulled out and collapsed beside him on his back.

Aziraphale hummed and curled into Crowley's side, beaming into his shoulder. _My angel._ Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale and held him close. They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the bliss.

Crowley looked over at the edge of the curtain. They were running out of time.

"Let's try it," Crowley said.

"Now?"

"Might as well, right? Sun's up. Not sure how long we have, but I'm sure it isn't much more."

Aziraphale sat up, nodding slowly. They faced each other on the bed, their hands held together.

"How...?" Aziraphale started, asking Agnes more than asking Crowley.

"Not a clue," Crowley responded with a shrug, "Ready?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath and nodded. "Ready."

It was nearly effortless.

Their souls slid out of their bodies, brushed together, the briefest moment of touch, and slid right back into their bodies.

For that brief moment of touch, Aziraphale saw, or rather didn't see because there were no eyes involved, the outer shell of Crowley's soul passing him. Aziraphale had expected to feel something, the touch of Crowley's soul against his own, a brush of Crowley's thoughts or feelings, but all that he could sense was an opaque wall of silvery grey, almost the color of brushed steel, and somehow the sense of a texture that reminded him of Crowley's feathers.

For that brief touch, all Crowley could sense was a concentrated, whirling ball of pure _Aziraphale,_ a globe of light with too many eyes and too many wings, wrapped in ivory, blue and gold, flaming out streaks of pure Love, love for the Earth, love for the humans, love for food and drink and music and books, but most of all, brighter than all, his love for Crowley.

If Crowley's soul had legs, it would have stumbled heavily into Aziraphale's body, fallen to the floor and broken his ankle, drunk on the vivid intensity of Aziraphale's love for him. Of course he had felt Aziraphale's love before, had even been healed by it, but it was nothing to _this_. With their bodies out of the way, without air and atoms and physical matter in between them, the unfiltered rawness of it, the strength of it, was _crushingly_ breathtaking.

Crowley collapsed onto the bed on his side, utterly overwhelmed, breathing heavily. He had known it was coming, had expected to feel Aziraphale in passing, he suspected it would be intense, but _that_...

Aziraphale stared around the room, adjusting to the way that light and color looked with these eyes, a bit disoriented. He looked down at Crowley, looking at his own body laying on the bed below him, and a flutter of desire rolled through his groin.

"Oh," Aziraphale's voice came out sounding like a mixture of his own and Crowley's, and it was bizarre to hear.

Crowley-as-Aziraphale was breathing heavily, and the desire of Aziraphale-as-Crowley was quickly turning to arousal at the sight and the sound of it.

"Oh, you really- your body really-" Aziraphale said, his face flushing red instantly, entirely unable to control his reactions, feeling as if he had gotten in to drive a car, realized it was manual instead of automatic, and he'd never driven stick before, and he really wasn't good at driving anyway, having only done it that one time in the nineties.

"Really what?" Crowley asked, watching his own face turn red, surprised at how quickly and how _very_ red it became.

"Er... it really... _wants_ mine."

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, not understanding why that was _at all_ surprising, but the expression on Aziraphale's borrowed face was of utter shock.

"You knew that," Crowley said, rather unnecessarily, he thought, his eyebrows raising.

"Well, I thought I did, but..." Aziraphale's brow creased and he shrugged, almost helplessly, with Crowley's entire body, somehow managing to express everything he meant to say with the gesture, as Crowley's body was so easily capable of doing.

Crowley nodded. He knew exactly what Aziraphale meant, as he had just experienced the same burst of suddenly, utterly _understanding_ something that he thought he already knew.

Crowley looked down at his chest and couldn't help but run his hands along himself, feeling the familiar soft skin, the hard muscle underneath, the layer of padding in between, so different from his own angular body.

Aziraphale stared down at Crowley touching Aziraphale's body so _reverently_ and realized Crowley's body was well on its way to getting an erection at the sight of it. Aziraphale was nearly overwhelmed at the depths of the pure, aching _desire_ he felt coursing through the body he was wearing.

Aziraphale reached down to touch his own chest alongside Crowley's fingers, the utterly alien feeling of touching his own familiar skin, without the sensation of being touched.

Crowley arched up against the touch, desire spiking through his borrowed body at the slightest contact of fingertips.

Crowley glanced at the edge of the curtain again. "I think we're running out of time, angel," he said, but his hands wouldn't stop exploring, stroking the curves of Aziraphale's stomach, squeezing it.

Aziraphale made an odd face towards his hand, and Crowley looked up at the unfamiliar expression on his own face and didn't know what it meant.

"What?"

"I just... well, er, Gabriel told me to lose the gut."

" _Fuck_ Gabriel," Crowley spat, gripping at the extra fat around his waist as if Aziraphale had threatened to take it away that very moment. "I like your belly. _Obviously."_

Aziraphale could feel exactly how true that was, as his borrowed hand seemed to move without his permission to squeeze one of his own love handles, arousal deepening into need, his skin reddening under his freckles.

Crowley looked up at him, seeing himself almost as if Aziraphale must see him, a beautiful, lustful demon above him, hard and flushed in arousal, staring down at him in undisguised desire, and found himself shifting to lie on his back, his legs falling open in invitation, ready to submit.

"Didn't you just say we were running out of time, dear?"

But both of Aziraphale's hands moved to seize his own thighs, his thumbs digging into the meat of his muscles, and he couldn't help but push them up to Crowley's chest to get a better look at himself. Crowley's body was almost out of Aziraphale's control, and Aziraphale wondered if this was what it felt like, or if it was somehow different, when Crowley lost control of it himself.

Crowley tugged at Aziraphale's thighs and hips, steering him closer.

"I did," Crowley gasped out loud as Aziraphale's stiff cock brushed against his own, and he wrapped his hand around them both, stroking him together, the sight of it incredibly familiar but also entirely confusing.

"I suppose I'll just have to make it quick, then," Aziraphale smirked as he slid his cock out of Crowley's grip and aimed, sliding inside his loosened body in one powerful thrust, the remnants of Crowley's come still dripping out of him smoothing any resistance.

Crowley arched up in shock at the pleasure filling him, the thrill of being penetrated so abruptly, of being _taken_.

"Oh, _fuck!"_ Crowley nearly screamed, the sensation of being fucked so similar but somehow _so entirely different_ in Aziraphale's body than his own, the rush of sensation deliciously overwhelming.

Aziraphale captured Crowley's wrists and held them above his head, pushed them into the mattress as hard as he could, and fucked him hard and deep, knowing precisely the speed and depth that would get this body to come the fastest.

Only a few minutes later, Crowley was coming, untouched, his cock erupting onto his chest, shock in his eyes at the speed and intensity of it.

Aziraphale felt him clamping tight around him, and it was the exact trigger of what Aziraphale's borrowed body needed to send him over the edge into his own orgasm, thrusting harder into him, filling him with his come.

Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley, and it was strange and exhilarating to essentially kiss himself.

"Fuck, angel, your body really..." Crowley murmured against his lips, sighing contentedly.

"What, dear?"

" _Really_ likes getting fucked," Crowley said, pure wonder in his tone.

"You _knew_ that," Aziraphale repeated Crowley's words back to him smugly.

Crowley shrugged against the pillows and laughed. "Yeah, but I... _fuck._ No wonder you're insatiable. _"_

Aziraphale laughed, his face flushing again, the color a little more controlled this time, shrugging sheepishly with his whole body.

Crowley's watch on the nightstand beeped, a quiet little chirp.

"It's seven. What's the plan, angel? Do we wait until they find us? Do we find them?"

"I think we make it easy for them to find us."

"That's the move. I'll head to the bookshop, then, try to find anything that can be salvaged. They came for me here last time, but they might not want to try that again, considering what happened to Ligur."

Aziraphale nodded. "If they haven't come for us in three hours, let's meet at the bench, make ourselves public targets."

They quickly stood and snapped themselves clean and dressed. Aziraphale walked Crowley to the door, feeling quite odd to be seeing Crowley out of his own flat.

Crowley lingered at the door, stepping closer to Aziraphale, almost shyly, looking up at his own face. He cupped Aziraphale's angular cheeks in his hands and leaned up to kiss him softly.

Crowley beamed (this body smiled _so_ easily) at the soft expression he saw blooming on his own face.

Aziraphale looked down at him, unable to form any words, his borrowed lips slightly parted, a flush still on his cheeks.

"My angel," Crowley whispered, kissing him once more, and he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

Aziraphale stumbled, taken entirely off guard, his chest constricting, his eyes burning. His ridiculous hips seemed to want to collapse at any moment, and he barely kept himself from falling to the floor.

When he regained his balance, he turned back around towards the flat, wondering what to do with himself. It was far too unsettling to be here in this empty, alien space without Crowley here with him.

Aziraphale spotted a pack of clove cigarettes on a small table near the front door and briefly wondered if he had wished them into existence. He picked them up and headed to the door.

For the two hours and forty two minutes, he paced in front of the high rise, trying to figure out how these hips worked, chain smoking cloves, with the words _my angel, my angel, my angel_ playing on repeat as his mind whirled.

He first thought of the the brief touch with Crowley's soul. He had thought it would be more intimate, that he would have been able to _feel_ something. He wasn't sure what exactly he had been expecting.

Heaven generally believed Fallen souls to be black as pitch, all of their colors stripped of them when their wings were burned. Aziraphale had learned long ago that most things he had been told about demons were untrue, and he was glad this was one of them.

The sense of the texture of feathers made him suspect that Crowley had shielded himself during their swap.

He didn't understand why. Perhaps Crowley still didn't want to open up to him, or didn't trust him.

That didn't seem right, though. Crowley had been incredibly affectionate last night and this morning, far more than ever before. Perhaps Crowley hadn't shielded himself on purpose.

_My angel._

Aziraphale's breath caught at the memory of the open affection Crowley had radiated when hehad said _my angel_ to him at the door, those soft kisses, the tender way that Crowley had cupped his cheek, the loving expression.

There had always been a wall between them, built of who they were and what was expected of them. Most of it had been broken down by now, bits and pieces knocked down with millennia of patience and care. When the Apocalypse failed to happen, a wrecking ball hit the foundation. _Our own side._

Aziraphale realized that he _didn't_ entirely know Crowley, but he desperately _wanted_ to know him, to see and feel that inner softness that Crowley had started to show, the very core of Crowley that had been trapped beneath.

Only a few pieces left, Aziraphale thought, lighting another cigarette, this time with his finger, pleased at how effortless it was (this body channelled magic _so_ easily).

When it was time, Aziraphale's next round of pacing took him to the end of the block, expecting a cab to appear so he could hail it. To his delight, he saw the Bentley, illegally parked, her polish gleaming in the sun, not a smudge of fire damage to be seen.

Aziraphale found himself grinning fondly at the Bentley, almost wishing he knew how to drive properly so he could surprise Crowley with the car, hardly able to wait to see Crowley's reunion with her, but it was a better idea to keep her here anyway, safe and waiting for their triumphant return.

Aziraphale waved to the cab, and the Bentley thought it was _rather_ rude of him.

"St James's Park," he drawled at the driver, practicing Crowley's particular way of speaking.

It wasn't until Aziraphale was inside the cab that he realized that this meant that the bookshop _must_ be restored as well. He almost tried to throttle the hope bursting out of him, just in case it wasn't true, but it _must_ be, Adam had wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

Aziraphale suppressed a happy grin, figuring out how to control this body as he went, finding it an easier learning curve than he expected.

It was going to work, _all_ of it, Aziraphale just knew it, he could feel it. He knew Crowley well enough to convince Hell, had written several of Crowley's compliance reports himself, just as Crowley had done for him.

When it was over, Aziraphale would wait another six millennia, if that's what it took, he would wait far longer, to slowly untangle the wall of feathers protecting Crowley's soul, to embrace the love he was sure it contained.


	15. To The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And if you weren't, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing."_
> 
> Crowley's small smile was utterly fond, his posture was more relaxed than it had ever been, the underlying strain of the universe gone from his shoulders. Aziraphale had never seen him so completely at ease, so comfortable in his skin.

Sunday

The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

_"Time to leave the garden. Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?"_

They both grinned, remembering Aziraphale saying nearly the same words nearly two thousand years ago.

 _"Temptation accomplished,"_ Aziraphale replied, wiggling on his seat, almost giddy.

_"What about the Ritz? I believe a table for two has just miraculously come free."_

Aziraphale also believed that one of the appetizers at the Ritz today would miraculously contain oysters.

~

_"I like to think that none of this would have worked out, if you weren't, at heart, just a little bit, a good person."_

_"And if you weren't, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing."_

Crowley's small smile was utterly fond, his posture was more relaxed than it had ever been, the underlying strain of the universe gone from his shoulders. Aziraphale had never seen him so completely at ease, so comfortable in his skin.

 _"Cheers,"_ Crowley said, lifting his glass, the soft smile becoming uncontrollable when he saw Aziraphale's eyes flick up to look at him and a hint of a blush start to show on his cheeks, _"To the world."_

Aziraphale beamed, his eyes threatening tears, simply glowing with Love.

_"To the world."_

_~_

Their lunch-turned-dinner was long and leisurely. Aziraphale told his entire story twice, at Crowley's insistence, in great detail. Crowley cackled again at the bits about the rubber duck and the bath towel, loudly enough that some of the other diners turned to stare. Both times.

Crowley told his story as well, though it was a bit abridged. He skipped over most of Gabriel's words, saying, "I can't believe how they talked to you, angel, I can't believe... It was so tempting to actually _burn_ that fucker Gabriel, he deserves it for all the shit he said, honestly I almost did it... but I knew if I did, the rest of them wouldn't stop coming after you."

"I never really fit in up there," Aziraphale admitted, his eyes on the plate in front of him, avoiding Crowley's gaze.

"You're _better_ than them. You know that, right?" Crowley said softly. "Right, angel?"

Aziraphale smiled sadly, his eyebrows furrowing for a minute, and he shrugged a little, saying, "I try to be, but I'm not always, my dear."

Crowley scoffed at that. "I'm not going to tell you the horrible things they said to me, as you. Just... just believe me, angel. On your worst day, you are still better than their best."

Aziraphale looked up at him with wide eyes, a bit surprised at the insistent compliment. He did wonder exactly what Gabriel had said to Crowley before the attempted execution, but he was also quite relieved that Crowley didn't want to tell him.

Crowley stared back at him, almost challengingly, until Aziraphale nodded a little, dropping his eyes down to look at the table again.

Crowley nodded in satisfaction and glanced around the dining room. "Where's the human gone off to? You need a slice of cheesecake."

~

When they were finally finished, they walked slowly back to Crowley's flat. Neither of them had consciously chosen the flat instead of the bookshop, their feet simply turned left instead of right when they exited the doors of the Ritz.

Crowley pulled out a Château Margaux he had laid down in the early eighties to save for a special occasion. As he decanted it, Aziraphale wandered into the plant room. He hadn't gotten a proper look at the night before, so he spent a long time examining every leaf and showering the plants with praise as they waited for the vintage wine to breathe. Crowley slid off his glasses and glared daggers at the plants from the doorway of the room, arms folded in annoyance, knowing he would need to schedule some quality shouting time to make sure the plants didn't get complacent.

When Aziraphale finished with the plants, he glanced down the hall and saw the statue, a black winged angel pinning down a white winged angel.

"Oh now _really_ , dear," Aziraphale said. "Did you have to be so obvious?"

Crowley scowled a bit. "It's _art._ Evil triumphing over good, it's meant to be."

"Triumphing," Aziraphale repeated, somehow managing to make a smirk look _prim_ , clearly implying that _topping_ would be more accurate, "I see."

Aziraphale continued to nose about his flat, stopping at a small shelf to glare at Crowley accusatorially. There may or may not have been a few first edition Shakespeare scripts in his collection, casually shelved next to some modern science fiction, a selection of astronomy magazines, and several conspiracy books about Machu Picchu.

"I thought you didn't _do books,_ Crowley."

"Well, you know, for... er, some of them aren't bad." Crowley had tried to say _for looks_ , but even if he _was_ capable of lying to Aziraphale, the titles had already given him away.

Crowley felt lucky that Aziraphale hadn't opened the scripts and seen the signatures. He would have never heard the end of it.

Aziraphale paused, his hand resting on the wing of the eagle lectern, confused, knowing he had seen it before but not immediately remembering where.

"Isn't this from...?"

Crowley looked away, a bit embarrassed, "Might be, yeah," he said noncommittally. He had never expected that Aziraphale would _see_ that he had gone back to the ruins of the church the next day, wanting a souvenir of that night, their reunion after almost a century apart, the night that Aziraphale had said, _I have to say it. I love you. I'm in love with you._

"Oh, _Crowley,"_ Aziraphale whispered, his wide eyes on the eagle in disbelief. Of course he hadn't recognized it immediately. Any memories of the decor that night had been overshadowed by the vision of Crowley dancing down the aisle in pain, of healing Crowley's blackened feet, and of the words _our bed_ and _mine._

"The wine has got to be aerated by now," Crowley muttered.

Once the wine was poured, and after he exclaimed at the perfection of this particular vintage, Aziraphale continued wandering around the flat, stopping at the early sketch of the Mona Lisa, absently running his thumb against his wineglass.

Crowley lurked.

Crowley found himself lurking rather a lot when Aziraphale was in the flat.

Perhaps it was the dissonance of seeing Aziraphale here, the contrast of softness and beauty with Crowley's dramatic, modern lair. Perhaps it was because it was still hard to believe that Aziraphale was real. The memories of the fire were still so vivid. The smoke, the flames, the punch of the jet of water blasting him to the floor, the hole in his mind of where his sense of Aziraphale's existence had lived for so long... the silence of it had been deafening. The emptiness he had always feared, turned to reality in smoke and burning ash.

Yet here was his angel before him, perfectly renewed to the same comfortable corporation, his presence tucked back into Crowley's brain right where it had always been, right where he belonged, completing the puzzle of his mind. It was the most reassuring sensation Crowley had ever experienced. Safety. Completion. Closure.

Well, almost closure.

Aziraphale sipped from his wine, examining pencil strokes, humming appreciatively, reading the inscription, blissfully unaware of both Crowley's lurking and his internal crisis.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley said softly, almost afraid to capture his attention. He had to do this. Aziraphale deserved it. _Crowley_ deserved it.

"Hmm?" Aziraphale glanced over at him absently, swirling his wine.

"I love you," Crowley whispered, "have for so long. Forever."

The wineglass slipped from Aziraphale's fingers and shattered on the floor.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, totally frozen in shock, his mouth open for several long, long seconds before suddenly bursting into noisy tears.

"Oh, _shit_..." Crowley muttered and stepped forward hesitantly, feeling glass cracking under his shoes, reaching out. Aziraphale stepped towards him, clutched the front of his shirt in tight fists, and wept into his shoulder.

"Oh, my dearest Crowley, I love you too," Aziraphale's words came out between gasping sobs.

Crowley inhaled sharply, startled. He had heard Aziraphale call people _my dear boy_ and _my dear lady_ and simply _my dear_ for thousands of years, but not once had he heard Aziraphale call anyone _dearest._

Aziraphale heard his noise of surprise and let out a weepy laugh. "Don't be silly. Who else could possibly by my dearest?"

"I just- I didn't..." Crowley had never once considered that Aziraphale had been holding back words himself, that Aziraphale had ever felt _anything_ he hadn't worn on his sleeve.

"Dearest... could, well...?"

"Tell me what you want, Zira."

Aziraphale took a hesitant breath. "Say... say it again?" He pleaded.

Crowley failed to hold in a flinch, six thousand years of conditioning taking their toll.

Aziraphale noticed and immediately shook his head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked-"

"No, don't you dare be- be _sorry!_ I just... it's still hard, after..."

Aziraphale nodded slowly.

"You know that I love you, angel." Crowley said, only stumbling a little. "I love you, Aziraphale." His tone bordered on stubborn, as if he was scolding his subconscious.

Aziraphale smiled and frowned at the same time, trying to stop crying.

"I love you too, Crowley."

Crowley's eyes lit up in a way that Aziraphale had never seen before, _especially_ after those words were spoken, and Aziraphale's heart clenched in wild happiness, and the tears flowed again.

"It's so wonderful to hear you say it, dearest," Aziraphale cried into his shirt.

Crowley held him close and tried to explain, knowing he must at least _try_ to justify it. "I'm sorry, I couldn't- I just _couldn't_ say it, that made it _real_ , and if you Fell, it would be all my fault. I thought... I couldn't have you Fall for me, and that's what I feared you would do, if you were given the choice between smiting me and Falling. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if you Fell. I was trying to make the decision easier, but... I suppose it was pointless."

"It was," Aziraphale's voice cracked, "I would have."

Crowley winced in real pain, almost pulling away. "Don't _say_ that-"

"But I didn't," Aziraphale said, his voice gaining some of its strength back, "And I won't have to, now."

"I just- I _couldn't_. But I also couldn't stay away. It didn't help that you were throwing Love at me in overpowering waves all the time."

"You felt that?"

"I felt _everything_."

Aziraphale stared at him in shock. He had been so sure that Crowley had not been able to sense when he couldn't contain his love, when it spilled out of his aura and into the very air around them.

"It was... it was addicting, and I felt so selfish for wanting more of it, but I..." Crowley tried to explain, not sure how much sense he was making, "It just made it so much more important to... to keep my own in check."

"What... what do you mean?"

Crowley closed his eyes and forced himself to fully relax, trying to lower the last barriers around the central core of his true being, for the very first time since he had Fallen.

"My own," Crowley repeated quietly, peeling back the final layers around his soul, straining slightly to keep them from snapping back shut, opening his eyes as he finally, finally let it out.

Aziraphale felt an utterly overwhelming rush of Love surrounding him, cradling him, filling him to the brim, _drowning_ him. He let out a startled noise and found himself crying again, sobbing into Crowley's shoulder, unable to handle the intensity of it.

"Is it too much? I'll stop, if you like, at this point it's actually much easier to keep it in-"

"Don't you _dare_ ," Aziraphale hiccuped wetly into his shirt, his fingertips wrinkling it. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried this much, wasn't sure that he had _ever_ cried this much.

They stood, embracing, simply holding onto each other, for a long time, their love surrounding them. For the first time in eleven years, there was no clock counting down the time they had left. No need for looking over their shoulders for agents of Upstairs or Downstairs coming to smite them, no urgency to find a missing Antichrist, no need to check on the incorrect Antichrist that had always needed their attention, no plans to create for thwarting Armageddon.

For the first time in six thousand years there were no blessings or temptings to finish on time, no reports to file, no bosses waiting for those reports.

At some point they started kissing, a slow, gentle slide of lips, kisses filled with love and adoration and relief.

Crowley's mouth eventually slid down to Aziraphale's neck, as it tended to do. Crowley kissed the bite mark he had left early that morning.

"Why do you keep them?" Crowley asked, a question that had been brewing for centuries.

Aziraphale looked confused. "I told you a long time ago, it's proof it wasn't a dream."

"But surely, after all this time… it doesn't seem like it's _just_ that. Also, you don't sleep much."

"Well, it started there... In Rome. I knew you were a bit fond of me, but I didn't know, _couldn't_ know, whether you loved me or if you were even… capable anymore. It was ignorant of me to think that, but the thought passed my mind, please forgive me..."

Crowley shrugged it away. It was a fair assumption. He wasn't sure if any other demons were capable of love.

Aziraphale felt the dam had been broken, and the words kept flowing out, millennia of memories and thoughts and Feelings, so many things he had never even hoped that he would have the courage to say aloud.

"It hurt to think you didn't, or maybe couldn't. I had no right to be hurt, honestly, it's not like you had promised me your love and then taken it away. Sometimes I did think it had been a dream, but I had the burn to prove it had happened. When you came back to Europe, I thought you had lost all interest, I didn't blame you, I was the one to ruin it all. But of course I still wanted you, I still hoped that maybe, somehow, someday... but I was afraid still, too, afraid of consequences. I hoped and despaired, on a vicious cycle, until Paris. And even after Paris, I doubted sometimes, I thought that surely you could find someone more, I don't know, more modern, or... or more attractive..."

Crowley hummed his disagreements against Aziraphale's throat, running his teeth against the most recent bite, knowing there was no need to disagree out loud. Aziraphale now knew _exactly_ how attractive Crowley found him, had felt it himself when he borrowed Crowley's body. Just to make sure the point had been made, Crowley dug his teeth back into the bite gently, also reminding Aziraphale of his question.

"But... but the marks. Even if you didn't love me, I at least knew without any doubt that you _wanted_ me, because I had evidence to look at, I could see it in the mirror, proof that you wanted me, at least in that moment that you had made the mark. It made it _real_. Even if that's all that it would ever be."

"And here I was, not telling you I loved you, because that would make it too real. I'm so sorry, angel," Crowley whispered against his skin, "I should have told you sooner."

"Deep down, I knew, dearest... all the times you rescued me... especially after the Nazis. I knew you must have, I knew you just couldn't say it."

Crowley felt another crunch under his foot. He snapped to repair the wineglass and refilled it, setting it onto the desk before embracing Aziraphale again. Holding him made him feel more alive. It helped Crowley's nerves to hear his breath, listen to his heartbeat, feel the resonance of his voice. Crowley kept subconsciously checking on Aziraphale's presence in the back of his mind, finding him, feeling relief, and then seconds later, checking again. The echo of his own voice reverberated through his thoughts. _I can't find you!_

"I'm sorry," Crowley said suddenly, "For going to Alpha Centauri without you."

What if it had been Aziraphale desperately searching for him? What if Crowley had gone off to the stars, and Aziraphale had thwarted the apocalypse on his own, gotten back into his body and couldn't find Crowley? Surely light years away was too far for their connection to work.

Aziraphale looked up at him, confused.

"But you didn't..?"

"I just... I couldn't. You know?"

"Right. I know. Yes. You're still here."

Aziraphale leaned up to kiss his cheek. Crowley certainly was daft sometimes.

"Couldn't... couldn't leave, right? Even... even when I tried."

Crowley's unblinking eyes stared into Aziraphale's as the creases between his eyebrows appeared and disappeared. A look of frustration settled over his features and he gestured wildly into the air with both arms. "Nnnngk."

Aziraphale considered for a moment. He thought he knew what Crowley was trying to say, but he wasn't sure.

"Thank you for staying," Aziraphale started, but Crowley's crease deepened.

"I'm trying to _apologize_ , angel."

"There's nothing to... I'm the one that needs to apologize, dearest, I should have listened to you, I should have-"

"Oh, shut up."

Crowley walked Aziraphale backwards and kissed him against the wall until he forgot entirely what they had been talking about.

When they finally separated what could have been minutes or hours later, Aziraphale whispered, "I love you," against his lips, and Crowley _smiled_ , and Aziraphale melted all over again, his breath stuttering.

"How long... how long have you? How early on?" Crowley asked, his fingers tracing Aziraphale's cheekbone, seeing traces of tears forming again, wiping them away.

"The earliest."

"How... earliest. Specifically."

"You... you smiled at me on the wall."

Crowley's jaw dropped.

"I didn't realize what it really was until later. You were _so_ pretty, I was absolutely dazzled by your eyes, and your hair in its long curls… And you were just so playfully friendly, and I was immediately, entirely charmed, though in that moment I vigorously denied it. Your smile, Crowley, you don't even know- there's one smile that you have that... it's so open, and honest, and you look so..."

Aziraphale hesitated, hoping the word wouldn't offend, " _Angelic_. Then I found myself sheltering you from the rain with my wing without even thinking about it. How could I not? You were... _stunningly_ attractive, and entirely unlike the image I had in my mind of what a demon would look like. How could I _not_ be charmed?"

It almost sounded as if Aziraphale was asking to be forgiven.

"It didn't take long for me to start thinking about that day a lot, and thinking about kissing you in the rain, I've already told you about that. I didn't realize what it _was_ until much later, but that's when it was born." Aziraphale took a deep breath, sipping on his wine a little nervously, feeling a bit overexposed.

"How long have you..?" Aziraphale asked, expecting 1941, but wondering if it could have been as far back as 1793.

"I was in pretty heavy denial for most of it... but, well..." Crowley took a sip from his own glass, trying and failing to hide the trembling in his hands.

"You gave away your sword."

Aziraphale's eyes widened and mouth opened wordlessly, shocked to silence.

"I was instantly impressed. Then... then I said wouldn't it be funny if we both got it wrong, and you laughed and then got so serious so quickly, it was quite fetching and I... I wanted to make you laugh again. I immediately knew you weren't like the other angels at all, you were a _real_ angel, you actually cared about the humans. And... and you... you _sheltered me with your wing,_ and I- how could I- I?"

Crowley's words turned into a string of vowels, his voice becoming hoarse, his tongue tangling in his mouth as his fractured thoughts couldn't be put into words.

Aziraphale had never known why exactly he had sheltered Crowley from the rain. His rather inconsistent internal moral compass had stopped with a definitive chime on _Absolutely The Right Thing To Do_ , and it had been pure 's casual sidle towards him, cautiously accepting the offer of shelter, was comforting, felt _safe_ , and _oh_ his eyes were even more beautiful close up-

It was a wonder that it had taken more than a few seconds for Aziraphale to imagine kissing him.

Aziraphale traced the sigil at Crowley's ear. "So then... we've _both_ been pining for six thousand years?"

Crowley huffed a bitter laugh, not knowing what to say.

"We're both idiots, darling," Aziraphale said, and couldn't help but repeat his words from last night, "Imagine if we had been at all competent."

 _Darling_ was a new one too, Crowley noticed, and he had never thought he would be one for pet names, but he found himself smiling.

Crowley reached for their glasses, filling them again. Their fingers brushed as he passed Aziraphale his glass.

"To us," Crowley said softly.

"To us," Aziraphale whispered, another pair of tears escaping his eyes, his face beaming even wider than it had at their toast at the Ritz.

When their glasses were empty, Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and kissed him again, tasting the vintage wine on his lips, in his mouth, on his tongue.

"Take me to bed, dearest," Aziraphale whispered against his lips.

Crowley took his hand in his own, lacing their fingers together tightly, and led him to the bedroom.

Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Aziraphale close for a moment, embracing him again around his middle where he stood, still not quite believing any of this was real. He pulled back to start undoing Aziraphale's many buttons, taking his time, relishing the lack of urgency.

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's hair, not pulling, just stroking through the soft red strands, enjoying the impossible softness.

"I love you," Aziraphale said, gazing down at Crowley, the words erupting from him now that there was nothing to hold them back.

"I love you, Zira," Crowley replied, his soft tone making Aziraphale's knees buckle.

Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale was crying again, the happiest of tears streaming down his face.

"None of that now, angel," Crowley smiled, reaching up to wipe them away.

"I'll _never_ get used to that," Aziraphale admitted through a watery smile, his breath catching despite himself.

"I hope not," Crowley smiled back as he reached up to untie the bow tie, a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched his own fingers slide the knot open. Crowley pushed Aziraphale's jacket off his shoulders, helping Aziraphale's arms out of the sleeves. Crowley snapped, and the jacket was neatly hung in the closet.

Crowley started on the buttons of his waistcoat, hearing Aziraphale's breathing start to deepen, seeing his trousers tighten in anticipation.

When the waistcoat was unbuttoned, ever so slowly, another snap sent it to the closet.

Crowley laid his hand over the bulge in his trousers for a moment. Aziraphale let out a breathy sigh of pleasure.

"Lie down, angel."

Crowley guided him down, pushing him onto his back. For a moment he just stood there, gazing down at Aziraphale in his bed, flushed with desire, still dressed in shirt and trousers but so _undone_ it was intoxicating.

"Come here, my love," Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley eagerly straddled him. Aziraphale reached for him, attempting to remove his shirt, but Crowley pushed his hands away, gently moving his wrists to the bed.

"Let me," Crowley said, and Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for, but he laid still, his fingertips clutching at the silk sheets, trying to remain calm, trembling a little, his wide eyes staring up at Crowley, watching his deft fingers unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

Crowley leaned down, kissing the newly exposed skin of his neck, nibbling a little, biting gently. He unbuttoned the next button, repeating his open mouthed kisses on the fresh patch of honeyed skin.

Crowley repeated his motions again, still impossibly slowly. Eventually Aziraphale's shirt finally lay fully open, and Crowley pressed his mouth to the middle of Aziraphale's chest, his tongue flicking out to taste his skin. He slid to the side to lick Aziraphale's nipple, watching him squirm. Crowley's fingers trailed over his chest and stomach lovingly.

When Crowley's mouth circled his other nipple he arched up against it, his hands reaching for Crowley again, wanting to touch. Crowley smiled and pushed his hands away again.

Aziraphale wiggled a little, knowing where this was headed, a slow tease that would have him begging for more. Aziraphale was torn between impatience and bliss, desperately wanting Crowley to be inside of him, already, but these slow, savoring touches were threaded with a sense of pure worship, and Aziraphale had never felt anything quite like it before.

Crowley pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, trapping his arms in place. His kisses continued, becoming more wet and intense, scraping his teeth against Aziraphale's skin.

"Bite me," Aziraphale whispered, wanting those teeth to bite down, to leave another mark of possession.

Crowley smiled and obliged, burying his teeth into his favorite spot between Aziraphale's neck and shoulder, licking the mark as Aziraphale let out a whimpering gasp. Crowley inhaled, breathing in his scent, his tongue flicking into the air to taste it.

Crowley continued his bites, moving down Aziraphale's torso, creating constellations of teeth marks and bruises, hearing catches in his breath. He trailed one finger down the bulge in Aziraphale's trousers teasingly.

Aziraphale's hips bucked up against the touch, wanting more, but Crowley was not finished with his slow exploration.

"Please," Aziraphale breathed, barely able to stand the teasing, but also thrilled that they had all the time in the world, that Crowley could keep him like this for days if he wanted.

"Mmmm," Crowley hummed, popping open the top button of his trousers, letting his fingertips slowly trail over the bulge again before fully unbuttoning him.

Crowley's determination to kiss every part of him seemed to extend here, too, as he tugged Aziraphale's trousers and pants down to his thighs. Aziraphale lifted his hips to make it easier, tempted to snap himself totally nude, but Crowley had said _let me_ , and Aziraphale could hardly deny him this.

Crowley's mouth started on his exposed hip bone, traveled over his stomach to bite at the other, ignoring Aziraphale's cock, which started dripping precome.

The tops of his thighs were next, the soft flesh bruising easily, little teeth marks appearing as Crowley stared up at him, watching him shift and squirm in anticipation.

"You're a terrible tease," Aziraphale groaned, feeling the tips of Crowley's tongue against his hipbone again.

"You love it," Crowley smirked, purposeful in his word choice.

Aziraphale could hardly deny it. He tangled his fingers into Crowley's hair, unable to help himself, not tugging, just needing to touch _something_.

"Foul fiend," Aziraphale whimpered, tracing patterns along Crowley's scalp, grateful that Crowley hadn't pushed his hands away again.

Crowley grinned, hearing it as the compliment it was. He pulled Aziraphale's trousers further down and snapped them away when they got tangled around his ankles. His long fingers lifted Aziraphale's thighs against his chest to fully expose him.

Crowley's mouth continued its meandering path along the backs of Aziraphale's thighs, closing in on his puckered entrance, his tongue flicking around it but not touching it yet.

"Please, love," Aziraphale moaned, his thighs trembling, the anticipation almost too much. Crowley took pity on him, touching the tips of his tongue to Aziraphale's entrance gently, drinking in the gasp that escaped Aziraphale's parted lips.

Crowley flicked at it several times before flattening his tongue and running it fully over Aziraphale's hole.

"Oh my Go- goodness," Aziraphale breathed, the little hitches in his breath becoming more audible, every nerve of his body on fire.

Crowley hummed in satisfaction at the near-blasphemy and speared his tongue, working it inside Aziraphale, feeling saliva drip down his chin.

Aziraphale let out another whimpering moan, his hips moving against Crowley's mouth, trying to get it deeper.

Crowley concentrated, lengthening his tongue, letting the tips become more distinct, stroking against Aziraphale's prostate.

Aziraphale arched up in surprise as his cock pulsed onto his belly, shouting wordlessly through an unexpected climax.

As the pulses faded, Aziraphale ran his hand over his face, a little embarrassed at how quickly he had come, but Crowley hummed against him, radiating self satisfaction as he kept going, making his tongue thicker, stretching Aziraphale's body open for him.

Aziraphale thrashed against him, almost over sensitive, trying to fight against it, wanting more.

Crowley's tongue slowly thickened and lengthened further, ensuring Aziraphale would be able to take him with one thrust, the way he knew Aziraphale craved.

"Please-" Aziraphale started, but Crowley was already pulling out his tongue and shrinking it back to his normal size. He snapped his clothes away and slicked his cock with lube, watching Aziraphale's heavily lidded eyes stare at his hand.

"You want this, angel?" Crowley drawled with a smirk, stroking himself, staring down at him with darkened eyes.

"You know I do, dearest, _please_..."

Crowley pulled at Aziraphale's hips, positioning him closer. Aziraphale's ankles hooked together behind Crowley's back, trapping him there, urging him forward.

Crowley aimed at Aziraphale's entrance and stroked the swollen head of his cock against it several times, grinning lecherously at Aziraphale's eager wiggling. When Aziraphale started to make little whining noises he thrust in all at once, relishing the shocked cry that burst from Aziraphale's lips, remembering exactly how it felt in Aziraphale's body to be taken like this, needing more than ever to give Aziraphale anything he wanted, to pleasure him as much as possible.

Aziraphale's cry morphed into a moan of relief, of completion. Crowley held still for a moment to let him adjust, and then pulled all the way out and thrust back in to the root, earning another loud cry.

Aziraphale's cock twitched against his wet stomach, already climbing towards another orgasm.

"Do it... do it again," Aziraphale whimpered, his head thrown back against the pillow.

Crowley grinned as he obliged, pulling out and thrusting all the way back in once, twice more, before Aziraphale tightened his legs around him, holding him inside, rocking his hips.

Crowley continued his quick, deep thrusts, at a precise angle to hit his prostate on every thrust, pushing Aziraphale quickly towards his next orgasm.

It wasn't long before Aziraphale was pulsing white onto his belly again, his cries muffled into Crowley's mouth as he swallowed his moans.

Aziraphale lost count of orgasms, lost track of time entirely, his senses overwhelmed by the hard heat of Crowley's cock pumping inside him, of the burning hot lips on his throat, of the teeth digging into muscle. His nails dug into Crowley's back, urging him on, holding him close. Crowley's tongue thrust into his mouth, consuming him. His mind floated in bliss, his Love surrounding them.

"I... I can't for much longer..."

Aziraphale was brought back to the present, realizing Crowley's muscles were trembling with effort to keep going. He had no idea how long their bodies had been rocking together, no idea how many orgasms they had had.

"One more," Aziraphale pleaded, "come one more time, love."

Crowley held Aziraphale's legs to his chest, folding him in half, his thrusts uneven, pounding into him, chasing his pleasure.

The head of Aziraphale's cock tapped against Crowley's stomach, the friction bringing him to his own final orgasm, feeling the heat of Crowley coming inside him, multiplying the heat already there.

Crowley fell onto him, fingers threading through his hair, holding him still through devouring kisses. Eventually he pulled out, their hooded eyes meeting, silently agreeing that it would be lovely to sleep for a day or so.

Crowley wrapped around him with every limb, nuzzling into the back of his neck, letting out a slow sigh of relaxation. Aziraphale held Crowley's hand tight to his own chest, their fingers interlocked over Aziraphale's heart.

Aziraphale could feel sleep coming over his mind, giving in to the exhaustion of the last eleven years, of the last six thousand years.

As Aziraphale slowly nodded off, he barely heard Crowley's words in his ear, a faint mumble as he also slipped into sleep, a whispered, "Love you, my angel..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint, my one shot [He's Making You Blush](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579687) _could_ be read as part of this fic, between chapters 15 and 16.
> 
> p.s. more fluff coming


	16. Mon Amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, it's been exactly a month since the world didn't end," Crowley stated as they drove along the coast.
> 
> Aziraphale's hand squeezed Crowley's where it rested in its place on the angel's thigh.
> 
> "A month, already? We should celebrate! Toast to the world again. Something fancy."

2019

England

West Wittering

They weren't quite sure what to do with themselves in their unexpected retirement. Aziraphale rarely opened the shop these days, his posted opening hours becoming more and more convoluted. Lunches and dinners quickly became daily occurrences instead of weekly. They found themselves puttering around the countryside in the Bentley, exploring aimlessly, spending hours sitting on benches in comfortable silence, simply enjoying nature on the planet they had saved, that still existed despite what had seemed like impossible odds. After counting the days they had left together, for so long, it was pure bliss to not have an end point looming over them, no clock counting down. Time had no end, now. They wandered down walking paths, beaches, and through tiny, quaint towns. This week they had ended up in South Downs.

"You know, it's been exactly a month since the world didn't end," Crowley stated as they drove along the coast.

Aziraphale's hand squeezed Crowley's where it rested in its place on the angel's thigh.

"A month, already? We should celebrate! Toast to the world again. Something fancy."

Crowley spent a moment on his mobile looking for a place that would be suitable. In a moment they were speeding across the countryside to a gastropub on the north end of Chichester.

As soon as they walked in the door, they knew it was perfect. The ideal mixture of quaint stuffiness and modern style. The host quickly seated them at the best table.

A flamboyantly gay server with artfully tousled, bleached blond hair and flawlessly applied subtle makeup (quite subtle, except for the blindingly sharp flash of highlight on chiseled cheekbones in the dim candlelight, which Aziraphale kept glancing at distractedly, wondering if it was rude to ask what product he used, thinking of purchasing it for Crowley) sauntered to their table and looked them up and down, grinning. The server had seen them be seated from across the restaurant and thought what he was getting was a couple of Very Rich Gays (he's not exactly _wrong_ , per se), so he had brought the copy of the wine list that only had bottle prices. He could spot Very Rich Gays effortlessly. He was _very_ good at his job.

He introduced himself as Anthony. Aziraphale bit his lip to keep a snort of laughter under control and Crowley smiled mockingly.

Anthony was very surprised as he recited his top recommendations from the wine list, which seemed to have gone through some _major changes_ since he had started his previous table, and as the names of famous bottles kept coming out of his mouth, his usually unshakable persona faltered slightly. He glanced around helplessly, seeking some sort of reassurance, and he caught the eye of the bar manager across the restaurant, who nodded meaningly towards the front window where the Bentley was very illegally parked in all her freshly polished vintage glory.

To his further surprise, Anthony found himself saying smoothly, "And finally, Penfolds Grange, 1971, the lovely Shiraz itself, we happen to have two bottles only-"

"Penfolds Grange? Here, of all places?" The corners of Aziraphale's mouth tilted up and he stared at Crowley with both flattery and a little admonishment. Frivolous miracles _indeed_.

"Yes, the '71, perfect, we'll take them both," Crowley said smoothly, as he perused the appetizer menu, not looking up, "Thank you, Anthony," he added, slightly dismissively.

Anthony's jaw dropped a little and he froze still. _Both?_ The tip on this bill was going to pay his rent this month, and probably part of next month's, too.

Crowley looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, eyes hidden behind his glasses, and added blandly, "We're celebrating."

Aziraphale beamed at Crowley, and Anthony beamed as well, his eyes flicking back and forth between them, and he forgot entirely about the wine and the tip as he got caught up in just the edges of Aziraphale's aura, and he gasped out loud as _oh, the Love_ -

Aziraphale realized what had happened and quickly tried to turn it down a little, blushing slightly as Crowley's lips curled up in fond amusement.

"Oh, how _lovely,_ " Anthony murmured, overwhelmed, finding himself misty eyed, not knowing why. "Congratulations," he added earnestly, forgetting to ask what exactly he was congratulating them for, suddenly feeling as if was celebrating it _with_ them, that he had watched it grow himself, right from the beginning...

Only experience (and pure dedication to his craft) kept Anthony from breaking character and crying in happiness as he slid away from their table. He escaped to the kitchen just before the tears fell.

"What, mate?" Chef asked him, concerned.

"The gays at table twelve, they're just _so_ in love, something about them just _got_ me- I'm a right mess... And do _you_ know when we started stocking _Penfolds?!_ "

~

After the fourth course, Crowley lifted a finger to flag down their server.

Anthony sashayed confidently back to their table, already asking Crowley, "Are you and your husband ready for the second bottle of wine? I have it decanted and aerating."

Aziraphale's eyes shot up from his plate to the waiter in surprise at the word _husband._ Anthony immediately noticed the look and tried to backpedal, blushing furiously, feeling incredibly unprofessional.

"Oh, ah- my deepest apologies for assuming, you two just- er, I thought- so sorry-"

Crowley didn't even flinch. "No need to apologize, you assumed correctly, and yes, we are absolutely ready for the second."

Aziraphale's startled eyes shot to Crowley, widening in utter shock. Anthony disappeared as quickly as he could, not understanding the exchange even slightly, but knowing his presence was unnecessary and could be detrimental.

Crowley's face remained totally neutral as he absently swirled the last sips of his _absurdly_ expensive wine, peering through his dark lenses and raising an eyebrow at Aziraphale's dumbfounded expression. "What?"

Aziraphale's mouth opened, but there were too many words to say, and none of them could _possibly_ convey the enormity of what he was feeling.

Eventually he managed to simply repeat, "Assumed correctly?"

Crowley shrugged casually, as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"Well, what else would you call us?"

The question had been at the back of Aziraphale's mind since the Beginning, at what to call their... acquaintanceship, proximity knowing-ship, arrangement-ship, boyfriend-in-the-dark-glasses _,_ not friends, best friends, hereditary enemies...

 _Husbands_.

Aziraphale's eyes swam and he tried to keep tears from falling, his breath catching a little bit. It was simply _perfect_.

And _oh_ Crowley knew how to create a scene, and knew exactly how to catch Aziraphale unprepared and stab him with Feelings _right through his heart..._

Crowley smiled knowingly and raised his glass with his left hand to toast, his voice just slightly hoarse. He rested his right hand over Aziraphale's on the table between them.

"Happy anniversary, angel."

A sharp breath escaped Aziraphale, his thoughts racing, instinctively raising his glass to cheers, his arm on autopilot. With the _clink_ of their classes, all at once it slotted together- the long drive, the offhand comment about it being a month, the perfect restaurant conveniently only a short drive away, the ridiculously expensive wine. This evening _must_ have been planned, but in the moment, Crowley had made the whole thing feel like Aziraphale's idea.

"Which one is it? One month? Or has it been eleven years?" Aziraphale asked, his voice trembling.

"I think a month, yeah? A month feels right. But I would argue that we were _engaged_ for far longer than eleven years."

"When do you think? '41?"

"Well, with or without the 19?"

"That's ridiculous, not _Rome,_ dearest,that's when the courting started. No, it's obvious now, it makes perfect sense, can't believe I even asked, really! _"_

"When, then?"

"Don't you remember Paris?"

Crowley let out a little burst of laughter and nodded, grinning. "Yes, of course. Of course it was Paris." He leaned forward with his glass, clinking the crystal glasses together again. His smile softened as he toasted, "To us, _mon ange._ "

"To us, _mon démon, mon amour,_ " Aziraphale whispered, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears in the candlelight, radiating happiness, unknowingly blessing everyone in the restaurant, casting his love over the room in soft waves.

" _Mon amour,"_ Crowley whispered back, the softest smile Aziraphale had ever seen growing on his face, and that was all it took for the tears to fall.

~

Anthony barely managed to make it back to the kitchen before he started blubbing again. Chef hovered near the door, eagerly awaiting an update.

Anthony didn't know where to start. "I sort of think they got married at the table, just now. But then they said they had been married for a month, something about an anniversary... I missed a few bits in there, I was with those bints at table fourteen that wouldn't shut up. I didn't get most of it, but I'm fucked. Right, proper fucked. It's bloody beautiful, go out there and _feel_ it, take out the dessert yourself, do your fancy Chef thing, mate. I need a cigarette. _Shit_. I'm a right mess."

Later, when Anthony collected the leather bill fold from the table, he nearly fainted. Crowley had tipped sixty six percent on the credit card receipt. He had also left a _rather_ extravagant cash tip and a small scribbled note on a crumpled paper napkin, thanking him for officiating their wedding.

~

They exited the restaurant arm in arm, and Crowley opened the door of the Bentley for Aziraphale formally before sauntering around to the driver's side, feeling _rather_ pleased with himself.

Crowley had planned the one month anniversary dinner, but he hadn't planned that the server would be named Anthony, and he definitely hadn't planned Anthony's slip of the tongue (Crowley was clever, but he wasn't quite _that_ clever).

The pure _ineffability_ of it all was beyond perfect, far, far better than the half-dozen barely-formed ideas he had considered when trying to plan some extravagant way of establishing what exactly their Arrangement had changed into... something different, something permanent, something _more_.

 _Husbands_.

Crowley started the Bentley's engine, and she purred to life, the engine rumbling a bit louder than usual, the car feeling the change between them, feeling the rushes of adrenaline through both of their corporations.

They were really doing this, this was happening, this was _real_.

Crowley snapped casually, and a rough bundle of something wrapped in newsprint appeared in Aziraphale's lap. Crowley pulled the Bentley out onto the street as Aziraphale pulled back the paper, wondering what on Earth could be inside. Nestled carefully in between the pages were their wineglasses, small traces of wine still staining the crystal.

Aziraphale let out a chortle, not even minding the sin, obviously quite charmed, thanking him with a smile.

Crowley grinned and shifted gears before resting his hand on Aziraphale's thigh, squeezing affectionately. "Where to, angel?"

"Anywhere you like, dearest." Aziraphale sent the bundle to the back seat so he could comfortably lace their fingers together, taking a deep, shaky breath. His cheeks seemed to be glued upwards in a beaming grin.

Crowley lifted their so he could brush a kiss against the back of Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, his eyes shining. A lump formed in Aziraphale's throat behind his smile and he dabbed at his eyes with his free hand.

The Bentley revved loudly as Crowley hit the gas, his manic happiness channeling into the car. Aziraphale he didn't feel quite as anxious about their breakneck speed as usual (though he still tried to press his foot to an imaginary brake pedal as they went around curves on the country road, because habits made over many, many decades are hard to break). He felt a rush of exhilaration, and then a little tickle of reassurance, and realized suddenly that both had come from the Bentley.

Since the world ended, and then didn't end, Aziraphale had started to pick up on the Bentley's vague consciousness, her _presence_ , sort of, just beyond his senses. It had never felt quite as specific as it did tonight, the reassurance simply a jumble of wordless communication that meant exactly _watching out for witches on bicycles,_ and Aziraphale felt a burst of affection for the car.

Crowley wasn't sure where they were headed, exactly, but it didn't matter where they went.

They were free, and they were _together_.

Perhaps Crowley would race against the setting sun to get to the coast, so they could watch it go down against the water. He didn't bother glancing at his watch. Once the idea crossed his mind, he decided that it wouldn't be a race, that Time could bugger off and wait a bit, because Crowley wanted to watch the sun set with his angel tonight, and nobody could stop him, nobody would even _try_ to stop him, not Heaven, not Hell, not Satan himself.

The world was their oyster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm editing these last chapters, It feels like I wrote a 15 chapter fic with three epilogues. This is the first of three epilogues. Does that make sense? You'll see.


	17. Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was late afternoon when Crowley turned unexpectedly down an unpaved, quite overgrown driveway, and when Aziraphale looked to Crowley questioningly, Crowley ignored him except for one of his knowing little smiles. They drove through scattered trees for a minute.
> 
> As they reached the end of the driveway a small cottage came into view.
> 
> "Crowley-"
> 
> Crowley hushed him, patting his thigh reassuringly. 
> 
> "We'll just take a quick look, angel."

2019

South Downs

Crowley and Aziraphale ambled along West Wittering beach in the very last rays of evening light, Aziraphale's hand comfortably tucked into the crook of Crowley's elbow.

Aziraphale found himself saying, "You know, usually husbands live together."

"We do."

"Do we?"

"Don't we?"

Aziraphale supposed they sort of did, but that wasn't quite the point he wanted to make.

"I've been thinking. Perhaps it would be quite nice for us to get out of London."

"We are out of London."

"I mean more... permanently. I rather like South Downs. I've been thinking... perhaps I should sell the shop."

Crowley stared at him like he had sprouted several additional heads.

"Not the _books,_ obviously, just the building. Perhaps it would be nice to close the business, now that I don't need a base of operations."

"What business," Crowley snorted.

"Well, exactly."

~

So, of course, they bought a cottage.

Or, rather, Crowley had taken Aziraphale out for another ride to the hills a few months later. He had driven rather reasonably, for once, and Aziraphale wasn't really paying attention to where they were going, simply enjoying the cold wind on his face through the open windows and the steady, familiar touch of Crowley's warm fingers resting on his thigh.

It was late afternoon when Crowley turned unexpectedly down an unpaved, quite overgrown driveway, and when Aziraphale looked to Crowley questioningly, Crowley ignored him except for one of his knowing little smiles. They drove through scattered trees for a minute.

As they reached the end of the driveway a small cottage came into view.

"Crowley-"

Crowley hushed him, patting his thigh reassuringly.

"We'll just take a quick look, angel."

That didn't answer any Aziraphale's unspoken questions and somehow simultaneously kept him from actually voicing them aloud.

Damn(ed) demon was playing him like a fiddle, and they both knew it. Aziraphale smiled and wiggled a little in his seat in excitement. Now that Crowley had been able to fully let down his guard, his romantic gestures and surprises were crafted with artful precision.

Had he secretly rented them a cottage for the weekend? Or was it empty for the season, were they going to break in and snog like newlyweds, recreate Paris on the floor of someone's cottage?

Or perhaps, Aziraphale's breath caught, perhaps it's for sale? For a moment he felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, in the best possible way, and the thrill of it was enough to make his breath catch.

Crowley had been out a lot the past few weeks, and Aziraphale had been suspecting he was planning _something._ He always came back from his afternoons away with lavish gifts to excuse his absence, though Aziraphale could tell there was something else going on as well. Aziraphale knew Crowley had absurd amounts of money after millennia of long term investments, and now he had no reason to pretend he didn't enjoy spending it. Aziraphale _knew_ he must have been doing more than watering the plants, picking up bottles of expensive red wine and boxes of Belgian chocolate truffles. Had he really been looking for a cottage all this time?

They parked right in front of the door. It looked old, rather small and almost a little dumpy, not anything that Aziraphale could picture Crowley choosing to give a second glance. Aziraphale couldn't hear the sea, and the trees blocked the horizon. He wasn't sure how close to the coast they were. It was definitely very private, at least.

Aziraphale watched Crowley fiddle in his pockets for a second set of keys and unlock the door.

Crowley ushered him in and Aziraphale took one step inside before stopping with a startled, " _Oh_."

The cottage looked rather small because it was built into the side of an unseen hill and they were apparently on the upper floor. Large windows on the far side of an expansive, empty room gave an unobstructed view of the hills, filling the room with soft, warm light. Aziraphale could see doors off to each side. Though it was entirely empty, somehow it held the same warm, soft energy as the back room of the bookshop, that coziness that was impossible to build in, that could only be acquired with time and care. Aziraphale stepped in further to see a fireplace off to one side, and already could picture himself curled up in front of it with a giant stack of books to one side and Crowley dozing in his lap, threading his fingers through scarlet hair.

Crowley quickly nudged him towards the direction of stairs before Aziraphale could really explore it, and Aziraphale descended a little reluctantly, not quite ready to leave the room. He noted the beautiful polished hardwood of the stairs under his feet.

Aziraphale quickly realized why they had to start downstairs. It felt like they had come in through the back. A set of large double doors lead to a cobblestone patio, surrounded by the remains of what must have been gorgeous gardens at one point, signs of rock paths around flower beds, veg patches and old, broken bird baths. It all had been clearly neglected for a very long time. Aziraphale could see the silhouette of a dilapidated greenhouse in the setting sunlight, and the sight of it made his heart constrict, thinking of Crowley bringing these gardens back to life, fixing the broken glass panels of the greenhouse, creating their own little Eden in this secret corner of South Downs.

Aziraphale explored further through another door and clapped his hands together in delight, pleased to discover a charming little kitchen and breakfast nook, old fashioned enough to make Aziraphale feel right at home immediately, but modern enough to be functional. Aziraphale felt a newfound urge to learn how to bake. The humans that had lived here had made some updates to the appliances at some point, but the cabinets and countertops were still original. It had the look of being left empty for a long time, caught halfway in between renovations. The countertop was cracked in several places.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley again, his mouth opening to confirm whether it was for sale, or had Crowley already bought it, and if so he should really call that estate agent who had been hounding him for the past 30 years to sell the shop, but Crowley shushed him again. That knowing little smile kept on growing on Crowley's face incrementally, and somehow it made Aziraphale bite down his eager questions.

Crowley led him around the ground floor, letting Aziraphale gaze through the windows, seeing the view from all sides. There were no other cottages within sight, just rolling green hills and scattered trees.

Crowley opened the door to the back garden and gestured grandly with a crooked grin, then offered his elbow formally. Aziraphale let out a little giggle as he took it, biting back all of his hundred questions as he allowed Crowley to escort him outside. They walked out to the very edge of the garden, where it stopped and a walking path started, clearly leading to the hills. The view was absolutely beautiful, and Aziraphale's breath caught.

But Crowley was turning him back, towards the cottage, and Aziraphale immediately understood why. Several of his questions were instantly answered, now that he could properly see it from the outside.

There was an original structure, somewhere in there, what must have been a summer cottage for a somewhat wealthy family.

The upper floor seemed to be mostly original, but over many years more and more rooms had been added to the lower floor, creating a vacation cottage for what must have been a large family. It had become quite large, and Aziraphale already was considering which wing would be best to house the books.

His mouth dropped open to ask-

" _Shh!_ " Crowley shushed him with all the authority of Nanny Ashtoreth, though it was softened through Crowley's little grin. Aziraphale closed his mouth again over a little laugh, his eyes twinkling. Apparently the tour wasn't over.

Crowley marched him back inside and took him back up the stairs. Past the lounge were a few doors. Crowley opened one and lead Aziraphale into what had to be the master bedroom. A small door lead out to a rickety balcony, shaded by the surrounding trees, that overlooked the gardens. The bathroom had a massive claw foot tub, and if Aziraphale hadn't already been sold in the kitchen, that would have done it thrice over. Another image blossomed in his mind, of cradling Crowley in the tub in warm bubbles while snow blanketed the world outside. He could feel his eyes misting.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and several of his questions tumbled out at once. "How did you find this place? Who owned it? It looks like it's been empty for years, how long has it been on the market? Are the drains bad or something?"

Crowley held up his hands to stop the torrent of questions, and for a moment he sounded a tad nervous. "I promise I will answer all of your questions, angel, but first just tell me whether you like it so far."

Aziraphale's thoughts tumbled together, a mixture of _perfect_ and _made for us_ and _I love you so much,_ and he found himself making a confused noise that sounded like one of Crowley's extended combinations of vowels. He settled with shoving the demon against the wall of what he knew in his heart was their new bedroom, and kissed him soundly, his whole body squeezing Crowley to the wall.

Crowley grinned into his kiss, understanding perfectly.

"Is it yours yet?" Aziraphale managed in between kisses, and Crowley laughed against his mouth, his real laugh, with no trace of sarcasm or irony, and Aziraphale wanted to cry in happiness.

"I wanted you to see it first," Crowley said slowly. " _Ours,_ " He corrected softly. "If you like," he added with another hint of entirely unnecessary hesitation.

Aziraphale kissed him again in response, the softness of _ours_ causing his eyes to prick with real tears and the hesitancy of _if you like_ sounding just the same as every time each of them had said it before. There's wine at my place, if you like. You can stay at my place, if you like. Let's buy a cottage together, if you like.

"There's more I haven't shown you," Crowley murmured against his mouth with a smile.

"S'fine," Aziraphale said, kissing him through his words, his fingers tangling in Crowley's hair, tugging just a little, already sold on the cottage, ready to celebrate on their bedroom floor. Crowley groaned a little in response but kept talking, determined.

"One part in particular... it's actually the best bit. It's- well-" Something about Crowley's voice sounded rather embarrassed, and it caught Aziraphale's attention long enough to pull back to meet his eyes.

Aziraphale saw a flush rising on Crowley's cheeks, a pink brighter than he had seen in a _very_ long time, and whatever Crowley was talking about, it was making him more embarrassed than he had been in centuries. And somehow it was the best bit? Aziraphale's brow furrowed, and curiosity overtook him.

"Come on," Crowley said, untangling Aziraphale's hands from his hair, holding them as he hurried them back down the stairs with a little bit of a strangled laugh.

Crowley led him to a blank wall near the back of the cottage, underneath the front door, and hesitated for a moment, pulling Aziraphale's hand upwards, brushing his lips to Aziraphale's knuckles, clearly trying to find words. Aziraphale's breath caught at the sudden pulse of love he felt from Crowley, a flare that had broken through the barriers that had stood between them for millennia, the wall they were slowly bringing down, brick by brick.

"So I was thinking of where all your books were going to go, and how there's no way to fit all of them here, though it's much bigger than the other places I saw... I kept remembering that bit in those old movies that you like so much, those bookcases with the one book being a key to a hidden room, you know? Always seemed like fun, right? And I, er... just sort of imagined it, and then all of a sudden, well, ah... _Well_."

Crowley waved his hand dismissively at the wall in a gesture that Aziraphale recognized as removing a glamour.

A bookshelf appeared; one of Aziraphale's own, he realized with surprise.

Crowley reached forward and tugged at a particular book, and with a thunking noise, the bookshelf swung slowly outward, as if on a hinge.

Crowley gently guided Aziraphale around so he could see properly.

Aziraphale took several steps inside before he was able to comprehend what he was looking at. His jaw dropped open.

For the first few moments Aziraphale thought he was looking into his own bookshop, from the ceiling, though all of the books were missing. After he took another few steps, he realized it was a little smaller, slightly a different shape. Not an exact replica, but incredibly similar.

" _How...?_ " Aziraphale tried, but speech was beyond him.

"I know it's not exactly the same. I'll fix it. See, I hadn't _tried_ to- I just thought of it, and all of a sudden it was here in front of me, and it's a little off-"

"You did this by _accident?_ How did you get the energy for- for- _" For burrowing a massive, building-sized hole into a cliff without even trying?_ Aziraphale tried to say, but the words seemed too impossible to form with his mouth.

"Feel the land, angel. I didn't realize at first either."

Aziraphale turned his attention to the Earth, to a particular sense he rarely paid attention to, and realized there was a small ley line deep in the Earth under their feet. He nodded in realization.

"You feel it, right? I must have tapped in, somehow. Not sure. We're not far from Devil's Dyke, I think it's an offshoot. Well, come take a look, then."

Aziraphale walked in further, his feet carrying him down the spiral staircase, almost exactly like the one in the shop. They descended to the floor, stepping into the empty space.

The rest of the room was a mix of identical or similar features of the bookshop. The empty shelves were aligned slightly differently, an aisle here or there was wider or narrower than the original. Shelves were shorter or taller. Small details that didn't matter in the slightest.

Aziraphale stood in the center, turning slowly, taking it all in, utterly overwhelmed. He had mentioned thinking about moving out of London, but it had not been said with any urgency. He was still quite attached to the bookshop, and the thought of leaving it behind was rather sad.

Crowley had moved a mountain (well, a hill, at least) to solve this dilemma, instinctively sensing Aziraphale's hesitancy to leave the comfort of the bookshop so soon after it had been restored.

"I'll fix the bits that aren't quite right-"

Aziraphale whipped around to interrupt.

"You'll do _no_ such thing! It's already quite right just the way it is," Aziraphale stopped his protests with a trembling finger to his lips. "It's new, and you _made_ it, dearest, so it's already perfect, I can't even believe...this is better than an exact replica, it will be a _library_ , not the bookshop. It's new," he repeated, "And... and it's never been on fire."

Crowley nodded slowly as his expression changed from hesitant to grateful, as he had not even considered that aspect. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand and took a deep breath.

The nightmares of the fire had not been pleasant, not for either of them. Aziraphale no longer left Crowley's side for even a moment when he slept, trying desperately to wake him when the nightmares came, holding him, whispering reassurances and words of love. When Crowley finally awoke, he would wipe his tears on Aziraphale's shoulder and cling to him, wrap around him tightly with every limb, and shake until he fell asleep again. They didn't talk about it in the mornings. What was there to say?

"It can be locked from inside, as well. It's safe," Crowley added, and Aziraphale knew this was something else Crowley must have seriously considered, how they would protect themselves if (when?) Heaven or Hell lost their fear and came calling again. With the bookshelf sealed and glamoured, they would be hidden from any unwanted visitors, whether human or occult (or ethereal).

Aziraphale's tears started to fall, his face beaming in happiness, and Crowley pulled him into an embrace.

"It needs some work still. The kitchen could use new countertops and floors. The balcony is falling apart. Should be simple, especially with that ley line to tap into, it'll just take some time and effort."

" _Thank you_ ," Aziraphale clung to him, his tears damp against Crowley's neck. Crowley had thought of _everything_.

"Don't thank me quite yet, Mr. Fell, you still have to sign rather a lot of paperwork."

Aziraphale huffed a laugh, both amused and charmed that Crowley wanted his name on the deed, too. Such a _human_ thing, and totally unnecessary, but it was just another level of _our side_ that Aziraphale simply couldn't get enough of.

"I love you," Crowley whispered into his ear, and Aziraphale's knees gave out, and Crowley held him upright with his wiry strength, chuckling a little, simply _reveling_ in his absolute _favorite-est_ flavor of Aziraphale's reactions, all of the different things that he does when Crowley says those words. He can't believe he's gone for millennia without these reactions, the very _best_ ones. And to think! Crowley had been denying _himself,_ like a priest that had taken vows of chastity against this hedonistic _ecstasy_ , and really, that had been entirely undemonic of him. Surely the level of pleasure Crowley experienced with this flavor palate (initial burst of shock on the tongue with an intensity that bordered on pain, smoothly transitioning to notes of bliss and that peculiar flavor of impossible dreams, finishing on the lasting aftertaste of love and completion), _must_ be sinful.

Aziraphale trembled in Crowley's arms, simply drowning them both in the Love exuding from him, and for once, Crowley didn't tremble even slightly, finally, entirely relaxed, basking in it, letting himself soak in it. Confidently, unequivocally, definitely, entirely _un-ineffably,_ in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go. Thank you for going on this journey with me! <3


	18. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale opened his mouth but could not speak. His voice trembled and failed.
> 
> Perspective was a heady intoxicant.

2020

England

South Downs

Aziraphale finished the final swipe of the towel on the kitchen countertop with a satisfied sigh. He was quite pleased they had gone with grey marble, but he was never going to admit that to Crowley, who had been the one to argue for it in the first place.

Suddenly his vision went white. Pure terror immediately followed. He could feel the wooden kitchen floor beneath him, but it was the only hint that he was still in the same place. He put his hand in front of his face and could just barely see its outline. Somehow, impossibly, one particular point seemed brighter than the surrounding whiteness.

He panicked entirely, realizing what, _exactly_ , was happening in his kitchen.

"Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate."

It was not the Metatron.

It was the voice he had not heard since Eden.

God. Here, in South Downs. In his _kitchen!_

"Yes, Lord? I can't quite- quite see you."

"You would no longer survive that."

"I- I've done the best I can. I hope- I hope I've done well, my Lord."

"You've done very well. Why are you trembling?"

"I thought... I almost thought you were here to cast me down, for, er..."

"You had faith you would not Fall."

"I, yes, but- I'm sorry, it wavered, I, you see, we, er... _Well_."

"Why would you think that Love would make you Fall?"

When it was put that simply, Aziraphale had no answer.

"You led one of my Fallen angels out of the clutches of Hell's influence."

"But... Gabriel. The other angels..."

"They have never accomplished such a feat."

Aziraphale opened his mouth but could not speak. His voice trembled and failed.

Perspective was a heady intoxicant.

"You have taken one of Hell's strongest demons from their ranks, weakening their power. You have also given Adam his freedom from Hell. You have prevented the Earth, and my human children, from being destroyed. You have prevented endless deaths of my angels, both heavenly and fallen. Why would you think that would make you Fall?"

Aziraphale had no answer.

"Aziraphale, my beloved Principality. You have an instinctive touch for the difference between Right and Wrong, through every circumstance, and you have followed my Great and Ineffable Plan to the letter, through your own decisions. I shall grant you your well-earned reward."

Aziraphale tensed in anticipation, which bordered heavily on dread. Was he to be returned to Heaven? Promoted? Honored? Given the responsibilities that came with such promotions?

God's voice softened. "I grant you the full use of a gift that you have had all along."

Aziraphale's face twisted in confusion.

"I grant you full use of your Free Will. Heaven will _always_ welcome you, but you truly belong here, on the Earth. I grant you the Earth itself, to love and cherish, so you can rest. I give you the rest of Time to do as you will, to enjoy your existence with your beloved demon. He has received the same gift, though it was your actions that give it to him, not mine, as according to the Plan. You both have my gratitude, Aziraphale. Well done."

Aziraphale had never been more speechless. He felt tears falling down his cheeks. His brain repeated an endless, jumbled monotone of gratitude, but the words wouldn't make it past his mouth. He knew that She understood, that She could feel the gratitude and relief pouring from him.

"I love you," She whispered, and Aziraphale could feel the Glory of it through his bones, to the tips of every feather of his wings, quivering just out of sight.

The Light grew, impossibly, a tendril escaping from the brightest spot, reaching out, brushing against his skin. His wings instinctively unfolded and expanded, reaching towards it. It encompassed him, filling him with the indescribable Love of God, magnificent, divine. He could feel his spine arch back and his jaw drop into a silent scream, the pure and utter _Joy_ of it too much for him to handle. Surely, any moment, his fragile human body would simply _incinerate_ -

And then She was gone, the kitchen empty, their utterly mundane belongings surrounding him again, but looking anything but mundane. Everything was shining, even the matte stone earthenware pots that held his cooking utensils. All of the reflective surfaces were throwing sparkles of white light and rainbows everywhere, as if a thousand crystals hung in the window to reflect the sun. He stood in a whirlwind of emotions, his mouth hung open, rooted to the floor, swaying in disorientation, desperately wishing Crowley was here to share in this bliss, quickly moving from wishing to Wishing.

He heard the roar of the Bentley almost immediately, and a wave of relief spread over him. He wondered briefly if he really _had_ Wished Crowley here. He waited, unable to move, his feet still firmly rooted to the floor, silently calling Crowley to him, feeling his presence in the street, then in the driveway.

" _Aziraphale?!_ " Crowley screamed from the front door, feeling waves of urgency, but not understanding. His voice was as tense as a bowstring, layers of anger and fear intertwining, knowing _something was happening to his angel_. He had also felt the presence of Something, very large and impossibly powerful. His fear for Aziraphale was overwhelming every caution. " _What's-_ I felt- are you-?!"

Aziraphale heard his frantic footsteps run down the staircase and approach the kitchen, but he was unable to move.

Crowley's wings were already extended, fingers curled into fists, his jaw clenched. His face bore a grimace, ready for battle, prepared to fight to his death. He stopped abruptly, just around the corner, seeing radiating, brilliant white light, the beams of it reflecting from every surface. Dancing flashes of light escaped the kitchen and bounced around the walls.

Crowley's arm instinctively raised to shield his eyes as he rounded the corner. " _What?!_ You- did you!" There was only one way for an angel to shine this much.

"The Almighty spoke to me," Aziraphale affirmed, his voice ringing with power, his wings such a bright white that individual feathers were no longer visible, if Crowley had dared to look. "I have been granted full use of my Free Will. She… She _touched_ me with Her Love."

Crowley stood silent, entirely speechless.

"We're- we're free, we're really _free_ , my love, it was all planned, we got it _entirely_ right, and now we're _free_ , for the rest of eternity, _together_." His voice rang. Aziraphale's glow increased, impossibly, and Crowley clapped both his hands fully over his eyes, afraid of burning out his sight.

"Look at me, my love. Look," Aziraphale whispered, taking a step towards him, one foot finally free from the floor, raising his hand to reach for Crowley. The power radiating from him was indescribable. Crowley could hear tears in his voice.

"I can't, I'll- Won't it-"

"She said... She gave us _both_ Her gratitude, my love. I very much doubt that Holy Light will harm you now," Aziraphale said, knowing to his bones that he was right.

Crowley thought he could not be more speechless. He slowly lowered his arm, flinching instinctively as the light hit the back of his eyelids.

"Look at me, my love," Aziraphale whispered again, taking another step closer, holding his arms out, his breath catching. "Let me hold you, my beloved demon."

Crowley stepped forward cautiously, his eyes squinting open, dazzled by the brilliance radiating from Aziraphale's fully visible aura, the reflections on it shining from every surface. The white glow of his feathers seemed to pulse with colors that didn't exist.

"That's what She called you, Crowley. _My_ beloved demon." Aziraphale's voice trembled. "You're _my beloved demon_." He repeated it again, knowing he would never tire of that phrase, the tears spilling again, coating his cheeks.

Crowley gasped, his own eyes burning with tears as he opened them fully, finally gazing upon Aziraphale in all his glory, expecting his eyes to sear in pain, but somehow able to look upon him. The Light from him still seemed to be on the spectrum just beyond the capability of his eyes, making him blink and squint to try to focus. Crowley hesitantly reached out to touch Aziraphale's outstretched hand, a tear escaping his eyes and rolling down his cheek.

"She- She did? She called me-"

" _Yes_." Aziraphale pulled him closer, face to face, and their foreheads touched. Aziraphale gripped Crowley's hand to his chest, their fingers laced tightly together. They leaned together, clutching around the shoulders of the other, holding close. Their wings curled in to tangle with each other, feathers sliding gently together, the tips aligning.

Crowley could feel the Holy Light traveling through Aziraphale's touch and winced in apprehension. But it was cool and soothing, entirely the opposite of what he was expecting. He had feared his feathers would catch fire, an ant under a magnifying glass directing the sun. If he could survive this Light... it implied he could actually survive the touch of Holy Water, or walk on consecrated ground unharmed. The knowledge was _staggering_. This was by _far_ the closest any of the Fallen had gotten to being Forgiven by God. His chest heaved in a sob. What had he done to deserve this?

They stood tangled together, both crying unashamedly, sharing the Light between them while it slowly, slowly dissipated. Neither were sure how long it took, and neither cared. When it finally became dark in the kitchen, Crowley raised his head from Aziraphale's shoulder to see a ray of sunrise through the kitchen curtains. Had it been one night? Two? Five? It hardly mattered.

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, tears still wet on both their cheeks.

"I love you, Aziraphale. My beloved angel." Crowley smiled, his real, genuine smile, his skin slightly glowing, angelic beauty shining through. His wings were still black, but there was a shining, metallic silvery gloss to them that had definitely not been there before. Aziraphale ran his fingers through the feathers, shocked. Everything about Crowley was stunningly beautiful, the Holy Light radiating from within him, glints of gold showing in his red hair.

" _I love you,"_ Crowley repeated quickly, loudly, almost sounding as if he was trying to convince Aziraphale. All the worry was gone from his brow, his expression open and relaxed, more at peace than it had ever been. He blinked.

Aziraphale made a _ruined_ noise in the back of his throat, a gasping sob, and buried his face in Crowley's neck, unable to gaze upon his beauty any longer. The sob repeated, then intensified, as Aziraphale's whole body shook, sobs tearing through him, weeping in pure Joy.

Crowley pulled him closer, wrapping both arms around him, leaning against the counter and holding Aziraphale against him. "My beloved angel," he whispered, almost drunkenly, into Aziraphale's ear. "I love, you, Zira, _I love you_ , so much, my angel. I always have. My beloved angel." The words tumbled out, over and over and over again. He made absolutely no attempt to stop them.

"I love you, Crowley, my dearest," Aziraphale sobbed into his shoulder, his voice cracking.

"Stay with me forever, Zira, please," Crowley begged, his chest heaving, "spend all of eternity with me, my love."

Aziraphale gave a gasp, almost of laughter. "Of course, my beloved demon," he said, his voice thick with tears of joy. "You don't even need to ask. You already know, forever and always. All of eternity. My husband."

The two celestial beings held each other close, desperately, as the bright, ethereal light finally faded away completely, surrounding them with mundane objects.

A rickety refrigerator, plain wooden cupboards, cooking utensils in clay jars.

Books strewn everywhere. A half open window, looking out onto the garden and greenhouse, signs of spring showing in the plants. The wind whistled, the birds sang.

Just another cottage in South Downs.

And God saw what She had made, the Guardians of Earth weeping together with joy, their Love slowly spreading across the countryside, a slowly growing cloud that would eventually, in Time, envelop the entirety of Earth... and it was very good.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic escalated in a way I was not prepared for... I knew it would probably be on the longer side, because my initial thought was to follow them through the ages, filling in the blanks of their story. I had no idea that this would end up being THIS LONG (How the fuck did I write a novel? 90k words? _How the fuck did that happen?_ ). 
> 
> A million thanks to the readers, especially those of you that have come on this journey with me from the beginning. Some of you have been commenting on every single chapter within days of publishing, and it’s been so wonderful and overwhelmingly sweet to see the same usernames come back again and again to show so much support (you know who you are!!). Several times I woke up in the morning after publishing a new chapter and the amount of new comments left overnight was entirely overwhelming in the very best way. I’ve responded to every new comment individually, I’m running out of ways to say thank you, your comments are so lovely and supportive and I am Bad At Feelings so sometimes I have to have a little cry about it. A very special thank you to Sarah (sarahgoodomens-2911) who has become my biggest cheerleader, checking in on my progress, encouraging me, and assuring me it’s okay to have writer’s block.
> 
> On a more personal note, this fandom brought me out of a really, really dark place. 2019 was the worst year of my life, starting right away in early January. Some traumatic shit happened (we won’t go there), my relationship ended abruptly, I had to move to a different city, my job moved to a different city, I sunk into a deep depression, I couldn’t stop thinking suicidal thoughts, my therapist suggested inpatient care... I was in the worst place I have ever been in my rollercoaster of mental health. Then in June a coworker randomly told me about the Amazon series Good Omens, and I very quickly fell down the wonderful rabbit hole of Ineffable Husbands. My trauma didn’t disappear, but the escapism was desperately needed. When I started this fic, the comments became my lifeblood. Little notes from strangers on the internet pulled me out of the black hole again and again and again.
> 
> I’m in a much, much better place now, no need to worry! 2020 (even with this virus scare!) has been cake compared to 2019! I’m stronger than ever, I’m safe at home in quarantine.
> 
> I have a couple of short side projects brewing in the back of my head that are related to this fic, one of them is here: [That Fucking Tiramisu (That One Time In Siena)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497579)
> 
> I also have been working on an outline for an original novel, (high fantasy with lots of magic, an absurd amount of unresolved sexual tension, and epic pining) a story that has been brewing in my mind since I started reading fantasy novels as a child. If I manage to get it written and published I will definitely post about it on my tumblr @fuzzyblueowl. 
> 
> So, again, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for going on this journey with me. Cheers! To _you._ <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please, for the love of Heaven and Hell, leave a comment, I would love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> I have a [tumblr](https://fuzzyblueowl.tumblr.com) now @fuzzyblueowl
> 
> Michael Sheen, this one's for you. My biggest dream is to know that you've read it.
> 
> ...kudos makes me nut

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That Fucking Tiramisu (That One Time In Siena)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497579) by [FuzzyBlueOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyBlueOwl/pseuds/FuzzyBlueOwl)




End file.
